


From Your Secret Santa

by ILoveLucey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Bartender Dean Winchester, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Hates Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Grinch References, Grumpy Dean, Harvelle's Roadhouse, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Legal Guardian Dean, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sam Ships It, Secret Admirer, Secret Santa, Snowmen, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 01:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILoveLucey/pseuds/ILoveLucey
Summary: Dean and Sam have had a tough year. Their dad died, leaving them parentless, and Dean has had to pick up the slack to make sure his little brother is fed, clothed, and has a roof over his head. To say that Dean is not in the Christmas spirit this year is an understatement.That is, until Dean gets a secret Santa who wants nothing more than to make the brothers' Christmas a cheerful one. The mysterious gift-giver apparently plans to do that with twelve days of cheesy poems, dorky activities, and, okay, some actually really nice presents.Dean hates to admit it but before the twelve days of Christmas are over his mood is effectively turned around. The only thing is, he's pretty sure his secret Santa is actually more of a secret admirer. It could be anyone from the Roadhouse trivia teams but there is only one person he wants it to be - his brown-haired, blue-eyed, oh-so-sexy best friend who has been there for him through everything and who he has a major, secret crush on.Inspired by the classic Christmas carol "The Twelve Days of Christmas".





	1. The Set-Up

**Author's Note:**

> First, I’d like to thank my amazing friend, Kelsey, for without whom this story would not exist. She gave me a huge helping hand with everything from plot brainstorming to being my beta-reading queen. I dragged her into this fandom and ship kicking and screaming and I couldn’t be happier that she gave in. Thanks, Kels!
> 
> Next, I’d like to thank my wonderful artist, [Ricketyjukeboxer](http://ricketyjukeboxer.tumblr.com/)! When I was first outlining this story and realized I wanted art, this is _exactly_ what I imagined. The one of Dean in the sweater kills me everytime I look at it. Besides making great art, she is so sweet and fun to work with. Thanks, Rickety! 
> 
> [Link to Art Masterpost](http://ricketyjukeboxer.tumblr.com/post/168555529908/for-iloveluceys-holiday-mixtape-story-from-your)
> 
> Last but not least, thanks to the SPN Holiday Mixtape mods for hosting this challenge. When I first signed up, I was so excited to write a _short_ fluffy Christmas fic. Of course, that short idea turned into 26,000 words but this one was so fun to write. 
> 
> Merry Christmas! I hope you all enjoy.

**__ **

 

**_Wednesday, November 29th. Trivia night._ **

The whole room is waiting with bated breath for the answer to the last trivia question of the night to appear on the screen. 

As soon as the slide changes on the flat screen TV mounted on the back wall of the bar, the entire table erupts into cheers. Another landslide for the Rebel Alliance, the Roadhouse trivia team with the most wins of the year, thank-you-very-much. Dean grabs Castiel a little too tightly around the neck and whoops loudly. Cas had answered the final question of the night correctly, putting them in the lead by over 50 points. Dean pulls his handsome features into a ridiculous face and shouts at Harry and Ed at the next table over, “suck it!”

The Ghostfacers are now firmly in second place. A couple weeks ago it had looked like they might be able to overtake Dean’s team, but not anymore. Both Harry and Ed flip Dean off and return to their beers to sulk with the rest of their team.

“That was awesome, Buddy.” Dean squeezes Cas’s neck and ruffles his hair. Cas rolls his blue eyes skyward and shakes his head under Dean’s hand. “It wasn’t that difficult of a question, Dean. Everyone knows Russia wasn’t using the Gregorian calendar at that time.”

“Yeah, whatever. Still awesome.” Dean finally lets go and Cas has to straighten out his shirt and pat down his hair where it’s probably sticking up in the back.

The Roadhouse is packed to the gills, as it always is on trivia nights, and the crowd is especially loud. Whether it’s because the other teams are indignant about losing again or just enjoying a night out, it’s hard to say. Every single table is occupied and Jo has to weave through them to get to the winning team. She carefully balances a tray holding a collection of identical shot glasses, all brimming with amber liquid.

Jo Harvelle is not only a prized member of the Rebel Alliance, but also the lead cocktail waitress at the Roadhouse, a bar that her mother has owned and operated since before she was born. She deposits the tray onto the table and bows, her long blonde hair falling into her eyes.

“Our most mediocre whiskey for the trivia victors!” She announces.

Everyone grabs a glass and says, “cheers!” Dean throws his back and swallows it down with a grimace. The burn that spreads down his throat and into his chest reminds him it’s definitely not top shelf. Returning the empty shot glass to the tray, Dean takes a swig from his beer to wash the nasty taste out of his mouth.

Cas consumes his alcohol with a stony face, as usual, and reaches across Dean to place it back on the tray. When all the glasses are drained, Jo bends down to grab the tray and asks the table, “who’s up for another?”

Dean shakes his head to decline her offer. “I gotta go pick up Sam in a couple hours.” Benny and Charlie are the only members of the team who take her up on it and Jo turns abruptly to retrieve another round from the bar.

The Rebel Alliance was formed a couple years ago when the Roadhouse first started hosting trivia night events every other Wednesday.

Dean was working at the Roadhouse for about a year at the time. He enlisted his best friend and Queen of Moondoor, Charlie Bradbury, to be the first member of his team. They’d thought of the team name together and curated the rest of the team roster from their mutual group of friends. Jo was quickly inducted into the team as the third member with Dean’s buddy from Bobby’s garage, Benny Lafitte, as the fourth.

They'd still needed a fifth member, so Charlie had asked her work colleague from Sandover, Castiel Novak, to join. She thought he would be the best candidate to round out the team with his apparently vast knowledge of history and geography.

When Dean first met ‘the guy from accounting,’ he was immediately drawn to the guy’s good looks. He was tall, with dark brown hair that looked a little too ruffled to be appropriate and bright blue eyes. His jaw was covered with just enough to stubble to look rugged without veering into sleeping-on-a-park-bench territory.

The best part? Charlie leaned over while Castiel had been introducing himself to the rest of the team and whispered into Dean’s ear, “PSA: he’s into dudes.”

Dean had a crush on him immediately and was embarrassingly excited when Cas had taken the seat next to him. The crush didn’t even wane when he had to spend the fifteen minutes before trivia started explaining the team name and then the general premise of Star Wars to him. He’d never met anyone who hadn’t seen at least one or two of the movies but for some reason the ignorance was kinda cute on this guy. He’d tilt his head to the side and squint whenever Dean said something he didn’t understand.

In the two years since then, Dean’s crush hasn’t disappeared but the ‘guy from accounting’ has become the best friend he’s ever had. Dean’s retrospection is interrupted by Ellen’s voice shouting over the din of the crowd. “Okay, okay, everyone settle down!”

It takes a minute for the room to quiet down so Ellen can be heard without hollering.

“As you all know, it’s time to pick names for our annual trivia secret santa exchange!” Ellen lifts up an old, sorry Santa hat, the trim a little more gray than pure white.

The room erupts into clapping and cheering but Dean just groans loudly. He’s not ready for all this Christmas nonsense yet. The shops downtown are already playing Christmas music, the storefronts trimmed in garland and bows, and it’s not even December yet! Jo insists anytime after Thanksgiving is fair game but Dean thinks anything before the first of the month is just profane.

Thankfully, Ellen hasn’t put up the Christmas decorations at the Roadhouse yet. He doesn’t think he could take it.

While Ellen walks around to each table, letting everyone blindly select a name out of the hat, conversation resumes.

“Come on, Grinch. Time to get in the Christmas spirit,” Charlie directs to Dean from across the table. She’s wearing her favorite shirt with Princess Leia's face on it and the words ‘A Woman’s Place is in the Resistance’ underneath. Her bright red hair is pinned back on one side with a Tardis shaped barrette and she’s giving him a look like he just ran over someone’s puppy.

Dean shakes his head. “No Christmas spirit for me, thanks.”

Charlie rolls her eyes tiredly, having had this conversation with Dean before. His redheaded friend was one of those people who got their Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving to maximize the time for ‘enjoyment’.

All of Dean's friends knew all too well his feelings about Christmas.  He had experienced enough bad Christmases in his life to want to give up on trying. When he was younger, sometimes he would think ‘this one will be different’ and he’d try to make the best of the holiday season, for Sam’s sake, but it never worked out. Dean now knows better than to get his hopes up.

Dean hasn't had a good Christmas since his mom died almost fourteen years ago. Ever since then, his Dad went off the rails with grief. The responsibility of raising his younger brother Sam fell onto Dean’s shoulders after that.

Their dad hit the bottle hard and wasn’t home very often anymore. He would spend all his time at bars, avoiding the Roadhouse and Ellen’s judgment, and leaving the boys home alone.

About ten months ago, John Winchester was finally put out of his misery when he died wrapping his truck around a tree the next town over. His blood alcohol level was over twice the legal limit.

Dean had to officially take his place as Sam’s legal guardian. He’s taken over the mortgage on their house and was doing whatever he could to make sure Sam was well taken care of. It was a struggle. It's still a struggle. 

He hates to admit it but more than anything it was actually a relief having the burden of worrying about John gone from his shoulders. Ever since their mother had died, their dad was a toxic and draining presence in their lives.

Although he died only months ago, Dean mourned the loss of his father many years prior. It was like he lost both parents that night when cancer had finally claimed Mary Winchester as its victim. Now Dean can just take care of Sam without the distraction of their dad’s issues pulling them down.

It had been hard at first, figuring out the logistics. Dean inheriting the house and petitioning for legal guardianship of a thirteen-year-old Sam. Cas had helped him through all of that. Dean was a mess at the time and didn’t know where to go to figure out what needed to be taken care of. Cas researched it all and made the process as painless as possible. Besides the practical aspects, he isn’t sure what he would have done without Cas there to provide moral support.

Dean doesn’t think he could have figured it out on his own, as overwhelmed as he had been at the time.

Most of the time he still feels overwhelmed. Being twenty-four years old, working two jobs, and raising a fourteen-year-old kid don’t exactly foster the wild twenties experience a lot of people are able to have.

Making the mortgage every month was especially tough. Right after John’s accident, Dean reluctantly looked into two-bedroom apartments in the area but had quickly found out that the rent was practically the same as the current monthly payment on their house. Not to mention that the house was the one they had moved into when Dean was still very young and the only home Dean remembers them living in together - just mom, dad, and Dean until Sam had come along much later.

Dean took any extra hours he could during the day at Bobby’s garage and as many evening shifts as he could bartending at the Roadhouse. It didn’t give him as much time to spend with Sam as he would like, but that was how it had to be for now. Stability for his little brother takes precedence over whatever wants he may have.

Ellen awakens Dean out of his reverie by shaking the dirty Santa hat in his face.

“Time to pick a name, Sweetie.”

Dean sighs and reaches his hand carefully into the hat, trying not to touch too much of it. He grabs the first piece of paper his fingers brush against and pulls it out.

As Ellen moves on to Benny, he unfolds the small piece of paper, hardly bigger than a fortune from the inside of a fortune cookie, and sees who he has to buy some stupid gift for now.

He’s glad to see that he received Jo’s name. She’s easy to buy for. He can just get her a bottle of Jack or some ammo, or maybe a new knife, and she’ll be happy. At least he won’t have to spend too much time trying to figure out what to get. He sits back, relieved about getting to put negligent effort into this lame tradition.

Cas is already putting his own tiny piece of paper away in his black leather wallet for safe-keeping.

Dean leans over to try to get a glimpse but Cas just closes his wallet and nudges Dean away with his elbow.

“It’s called _secret_ santa, Dean. No peeking.”

Dean can’t help but roll his eyes. Cas is always a stickler for stupid rules like that.

“Whatever. Let’s have one more beer. I still have awhile before I have to go pick up Sammy.”

His little brother is at his friend Kevin Tran’s studying for a final. When Dean dropped him off at the big house in the nice neighborhood earlier in the day, he gave Dean strict orders not to pick him up until ten. Apparently, they were coming up on an important biology test that required hours of studying.

Dean often thought Sam worked too hard on schoolwork but knew better than to tell him that. He had already gotten a lecture from Sam about getting into good colleges.

Sam was right about one thing: he would definitely need to win a scholarship if he was going to go to a nice university. Dean certainly couldn’t afford it.

Cas agrees to the extra beer and they flag Jo down for another round.

They spend the rest of the evening arguing with Benny and Charlie about who was the best Doctor before Dean has to leave to pick up Sam. Charlie is a purist who insists the fourth Doctor was the best, but Benny maintains it’s Ten.  Dean has always thought Benny must have a crush on David Tennent with the way he talks about him, and he’s not swayed by this conversation.

“Well,” Dean cuts in, “I think Doctor Sexy is the best doctor.”

Charlie sighs. “We’re talking time lords here, Dean. Not MDs with a cowboy fetish.”

When it’s time to leave, Cas walks Dean to his car around the back of the building and says his farewells. They make plans for Cas to come over for dinner on Friday and Dean waves through the window as he backs out of the alley.

Cas, illuminated by Dean’s headlights, looks identical to the day Dean met him. He’s wearing the same get-up: a navy suit, white shirt, and blue tie, all covered by his favorite beige trench coat.

Dean can’t believe that two years ago he didn’t even know this guy and now he’s such a huge part of his life. He’s more than just his best friend, he’s a part of the ragtag family Dean and Sam have cobbled together and he can’t imagine life without him now.    


	2. The First Day of Christmas

**_Wednesday, December 13th - The first day of Christmas._ **

It’s a normal Wednesday night at the Roadhouse and Dean is currently wiping down the freshly-washed glasses with his last clean bar rag. It’s been a _really_ long day and he’s dead on his feet. He worked for almost a full day at Bobby’s before coming in to work the night shift at the bar with only a short break in between to pick up Sam and throw together something for dinner.

The bar is empty now. They’re not too far from closing time but the last patron left about a half hour ago.

After Dean finishes polishing the last glass, he moves on to counting out the tips. He overturns the large mason jar they use to collect them and only a small collection of bills fall out. Looks like another stellar tip day at the Roadhouse. Weeknights are often fairly slow but tonight was practically dead. Dean is regretting that he hadn’t just stayed home with Sam instead of spending his whole evening propped up behind the bar doing menial tasks.

While sifting through the pile of crinkled dollar bills, a small square of white paper emerges. Dean’s first thought is that it might be a phone number.  There was only one person who was in the bar that night who Dean would have considered having some fun with but he had figured out pretty quick that the dude was straight so he held back his desire to flirt with the dark-haired man.

The possibility is much greater that it's one of those “here’s a tip: Jesus loves you” flyers that they get every once in a while in place of an actual monetary tip. Dean is always pissed off every time he gets one of those. Their righteousness isn't going to help him feed his brother.

Turning over the square of paper, he’s surprised to see his own name typed in boldface.  No chance it's just a random weirdo then. He unfolds the paper carefully, apprehensive of what might be inside. Maybe it’s some kind of prank from Jo.

“Jo, did you put this in here?” he calls as he flattens out the crinkled sheet on the bar top.

“What?”

Jo looks up from sweeping sleepily on the other side of the bar and tucks her hair behind one ear.

“What’s that?”

Dean ignores her to read the text on the page.

 

_Christmas is almost here again, I can't believe it's true_

_I'll make your holidays festive if it's the last thing I do_

_This is the first day of Christmas but there will be 11 more_

_And I promise these next 12 days will not be a bore_

_Do what I request and your Christmas will be merry_

_Decorations, tasks or gifts; each day it will vary_

_So deck the halls and make good cheer_

_I’ll get you in the spirit this year_

_It begins tonight_

_so don’t put up a fight_

_if you're looking for your first gift,_

_it will arrive shortly after your shift_

 

Dean groans out loud as he examines the front and back of the plain computer paper one more time. There’s no clue as to who the poem is from and he guesses that's kind of the point, but it makes him feel uneasy.

Jo approaches the bar and leans her elbows in front of him, waiting curiously to see what has Dean so engrossed. Dean doesn't acknowledge her in favor of reading the poem again.

“Well, what is it? Did that dude you were eyeing earlier leave you his number?”

Dean rolls his eyes and reluctantly hands the paper over to Jo.

Her face slowly melts into a devious smile and Dean braces himself for the teasing that’s sure to follow.

Jo whistles. “Wow, Dean, someone going to all this trouble for a secret santa gift? Seems more like you have a secret _admirer_.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him and hands the paper back over.

Dean chooses not to respond and shoves the hastily folded page into the pocket of his jeans.

He has to admit, it did seem like this person was putting a lot of work into the whole secret santa thing. He’d barely even thought about what he was going to get for Jo. Could his secret santa really be someone who had a crush on him? From one of the trivia night teams? Eight teams with five members each makes for a total of forty suspects.

Jo eagerly hops onto one of the bar stools and waits for Dean to look up before she whispers, “so…who do you think it is?”

Dean looks away. “No clue.”

He really doesn’t know who it could be. But he does know who he wants it to be.

“I bet it's Becky.” Jo looks particularly gleeful at that idea. “She’s probably going to come up with elaborate schemes to get you under some mistletoe and write you into her Star Trek fan fiction.”

Dean rolls his eyes again and pointedly doesn’t admit that he’s read Becky’s Star Trek fan fiction and he thinks it's actually pretty good. And being written into one would be kinda awesome.

Dean leans heavily on the bar top and hangs his head. “God. Do you really think it’s Becky?”

Becky isn’t a bad person. She’s just…overly exuberant. And sometimes it verges into ‘creepy’ territory.

Jo leans in conspiratorially to make another, probably uncomforting, comment when they’re both startled by the harsh sound of Ellen’s voice coming from the back room. “Get back to work, you two! I want to get home before sunrise.”

Dean and Jo jump to attention and answer, “yes, Ma'am,” in almost-perfect sync.

Jo returns to her deserted broom and this time when she starts sweeping, it’s with renewed vigor.

Dean goes back to counting out the tips, splitting them evenly between he and Jo, but his mind wanders back to the note in his pocket.  From the cheesy poetry and the over-the-top nature of the secret santa’s gift, or gifts, actually, he can only guess that maybe it is Becky. He doesn’t think there’s anyone else in the trivia group who would go to all the trouble for a simple secret santa gift.

He wants to call Cas and tell him about the note he just received but for one thing, the dude’s probably already asleep.  For some reason that Dean can’t fathom, he gets up even earlier than he has to everyday to run before work. Also, there is still a chance, as small as it may be, that the secret santa could _be_ Cas. Dean figures it's more wishful thinking than anything, but Cas does love Christmas and would definitely do something dorky like this.

When Dean finishes counting out tips, he and Jo each end up with a paltry $17. Dean isn’t surprised but he isn’t happy about it either. He’s been working overtime lately, trying to save up enough dough for Sam’s Christmas presents. Sam has told him time and time again not to get him anything this year but Dean can’t do that. Maybe they won’t be having a traditional Christmas or whatever, but presents are a necessity.

Dean got Sammy something for Christmas every year after their mom died and his dad started dropping the ball. Often, it was whatever he could steal. One memorable time, Sam received a Barbie doll Dean had stolen from a neighbor's house without knowing what was inside the wrapped package.

When Dean was younger and had gone back to school after winter break, all of the kids in his classes would be talking about all the gifts they received that year: iPods and laptops and video games. All while Dean hadn’t received any gifts that year and wouldn’t for many years to come. He hadn’t cared much about the stuff, but it sucked having one more reason not to fit in. He never wanted Sam to feel like that. And, also, that nerd deserved a few nice things for Christmas after all they had been through this past year.

It was about twenty minutes later, close to one a.m., when Dean and Jo finally finished up the closing duties, Ellen standing impatiently by as they hurried through the rest of their assigned tasks. Now Dean is anxious to get home. He’s beyond tired tonight and very much looking forward to falling into bed and not moving until he has to get up and take Sam to school in the morning.

Dean walks Jo and Ellen to their car out front, as he does every night he works. He doesn’t like the idea of them coming out of the bar alone late at night on the evenings he doesn't work but Ellen and Jo are both tough. It just makes him feel better to make sure they’re safely in their car before he takes off.

He waits while they get into their beat-up pickup and start it up, one hand raised in a wave, the other buried deep in the pocket of his jeans. It’s been getting colder these days and Dean is feeling the chill tonight. He wishes he hadn’t left his leather jacket at home, and he can’t wait to get in his baby and crank the heat.

When Ellen and Jo turn the corner onto the main drag, Dean walks around the Roadhouse to the back of the building where he always parks. He doesn't trust his car in a parking lot full of drunks.

Dean brings his hands up to his face and warms them with his breath.  He has some gloves in the car that he never wears but he kinda wishes he was wearing them now.  He’s not exactly looking forward to handling the ice-cold steering wheel and sitting on freezing leather while the car warms up.

As he rounds the corner to the alley, he stops dead in his tracks. He stands, frozen in more ways than one, just staring at the scene in front of him in disbelief.

There sits his beautiful ‘67 Impala - with a giant freaking Christmas tree strapped to the top.

“Really?!?” He yells out loud for no one to hear.

Dean rushes to the car to examine it more closely. The angry knot in his chest loosens somewhat when he sees that whatever monster has done this put a blanket down under the tree to protect the paint. “Thank god,” he mutters to himself, thankful for small miracles.

He’s about to walk around to assess the other side of his baby when he sees the white square of paper trapped under one of his windshield wipers.

It’s not unlike the sheet of paper that’s currently residing in his front pocket. Same plain white computer paper, same nondescript font, folded tightly into a square. He plucks it from the windshield unceremoniously and examines it.

Typed in black ink on the front of the paper are the words, “To Dean, From your secret santa.” Of course this was the work of his mysterious secret santa.

Unfolding it not-so-carefully, Dean reads what is written on the page:

 

_With your impala, who needs a sleigh?_

_Take this tree home and put it up right away_

_Christmas just isn’t Christmas without a tree_

_No excuses this year since you got it for free_

 

Dean groans in frustration. Now Dean is regretting agreeing to participate in the gift exchange this year. It was one thing to end up with some stupid candle someone was regifting for the third time but messing with his baby? That went too far.

Dean is not happy. He grumbles to himself as he stomps around the entire car, double checking for scratches.

Once he’s satisfied that his car is in the condition that he had left it this afternoon, and his fingers are numb, he stops and contemplates what to do. Part of him wants to untie the tree and throw it in the dumpster that is just a few short feet away. The other part of him, a very small part, feels bad for thinking that. His secret santa is obviously trying to do something nice for him, as misguided as it may be. Maybe they didn’t know how protective Dean was of his car? Although, that seems very, _very_ unlikely. _Everyone_ knows how much Dean loves his car. He’s certain every patron of the bar knows by now.

Deans finally decides that he might as well take the tree home. The trouble of securing it to the car has already been done and taking it home will probably amount to the same effort as throwing it away.

Which is why, very reluctantly, Dean drives home with a 6-foot Douglas fir strapped to the top of his car.

He’s only halfway to home when the tip of the tree shifts, encroaching over onto the driver’s side of the windshield, and he has to drive the rest of the way with his head leaning out of the window. Besides feeling like icicles are forming on his nose, he’s also pretty sure he looks like a character from a National Lampoon movie. Dean is eternally thankful that it’s late and dark and there aren’t many others out driving around at this hour.

The street he and Sam live on is always quiet. At this time of night, there isn’t one light visible in any of the houses. Even the few houses strung with Christmas lights are dark at this hour. Outside, it’s silent enough to hear a pin drop, which makes it especially awkward when he tries to wrestle the tree into the house on his own without making too much noise. When Dean unties the rope, the tree promptly rolls right off the roof of the car and onto the driveway. Dean curses loud enough to echo down the lonely street and seriously considers leaving the tree where is lays and dealing with it in the morning. He’s tired and in a bad mood. He doesn’t want to deal with this stupid Christmas tree that he doesn’t even want.  He’s freezing and all he wants to do is go curl up under his warm covers for a few hours and forget about the impending holiday.

Dean makes too much noise and leaves a trail of pine needles in his wake, but after much toiling, he eventually succeeds in getting the thing upright in the living room.  It’s propped up in the corner of the living room with a layer of loose needles on the floor surrounding it. Dean will have to find the old tree stand tomorrow, but tonight he’s too tired to do any more.

Afterwards, he’s exhausted. As he climbs the stairs up to his bedroom, he thinks about how glad he is that he doesn’t have to work at Bobby’s tomorrow and that he’s free to take a nap after he drops Sam off at school.

Dean strips and crawls under the covers after he’s checked that Sam is safe in his bed. Before he drifts off, he thinks about his secret santa. Could it still be Becky? She’s a tiny thing so he knows she couldn’t have gotten that tree onto his car by herself.

She could have enlisted help. Or it could be someone else.

Who is it? And why the hell did they give him a Christmas tree?

It’s not until he wakes up the next morning to Sam practically jumping up and down next to his bed that he kind of gets it. 

“I can’t believe you actually got a tree, Dean!”

While Dean makes breakfast, Sam can’t stop talking about the dumb tree, like how he’s going to pull the old decorations out of the attic after school and how it makes the whole house ‘smell like Christmas’. Sam mentions the angel Mom used to put on the top of their tree and wonders if he’ll be able to find it in all of the boxes.

When Dean tells Sam the real origin of the tree, that his secret santa gifted it to him, Sam is even more enchanted, like it’s something magical instead of a dead tree that someone probably picked up from a Home Depot. Reluctantly, he hands over both of the notes at Sam’s insistence and lets him read them for himself.

Sam reiterated the idea that Dean’s secret santa must really like him and while Dean rolls his eyes, he secretly admits to himself that he hopes Sam is right. Dean hoped that Sammy would find some clue as to the identity of the gift giver in the poems but he just hands them back with a shake of his head. He’s more invested in the outcome than Dean is, though. All Dean is hoping for this Christmas season is that this secret santa thing doesn't turn out super awkwardly, like it will if Becky is the person behind it all.

Sam thinks it's ‘cute’. He insists this secret santa could be Dean’s future girlfriend or boyfriend.  With Becky in mind, Dean tells Sam not to get his hopes up.

Sam gets dropped off in front of the high school by Dean, clad in his pajama pants and an old tee shirt with a tumbler of hot coffee wedged between his legs. The high school is only a few miles from their house but Dean was in desperate need of caffeine after the night he had.

Sam stops and turns to Dean, backpack in hand and one foot on the curb, to make Dean promise to text him as soon as he gets today’s secret santa gift. Dean rolls his eyes but promises, eager to go home and get back in bed.

Once he finally ushers Sam out of the car, he pulls out onto the street, headed for home. The traffic is heavy this time of morning and Dean weaves through the other cars. He takes a burning sip from his cup and thinks about Sam’s reaction to the stupid tree, smiling to himself. Even with the confusion of last night, the heavy lifting, the sap on his arm that won’t wash off - he guesses it was worth it after all.


	3. The Second Day of Christmas

**_Thursday, December 14th - the second day of Christmas._ **

It’s nearly ten a.m. when Dean wakes up from his nap. He rolls over, stretching like a cat in the mid-morning sun.  He’s already decided that he’s going to venture into the attic and get the Christmas decorations down for Sam. He’s not going to actual decorate the tree, but he’ll do that much.  He doesn’t want to get a call at the Roadhouse tonight that Sam fell down the ladder and broke his neck.

The attic is dark and filled with boxes. There’s almost no room to navigate between them all.

It takes him almost two hours to get up there and sift through all the dusty boxes. He doesn’t think anyone has been up here since shortly after his mom died. Dean had helped Dad box up all her stuff: the clothes in the closet, the costume jewelry in the box on the dresser, all of it.  Dad had shoved the boxes back into a corner and they never had a reason to come back up here again.

Besides the boxes of Mom’s stuff, which Dean pointedly does not look at, there are countless other boxes. Several boxes are full of Dean’s baby clothes. There’s also his old rocking horse, just sitting up there under a thick layer of dust. He had received it for Christmas one year from ‘Santa’. He vaguely remembers spending too many hours on that thing in his cowboy outfit and there’s an old picture of him doing just that in a shoebox under his bed. The attic’s a graveyard filled with the bones of their old lives, back when they were a happy family.

Finally, Dean finds the boxes of holiday decorations. There are a few filled with Halloween stuff. He remembers Mom used to love Halloween and would spend hours turning their house into a haunted house for the kids. Being up here among all these things from the past makes Dean realize the house is kind of haunted now.  There aren’t any real ghosts but the memories of his mother still haunt Dean here.

Way in the back corner of the space, he finds the Christmas stuff. There are four large boxes in all and he has no clue what’s in each one but he decides to bring them all down anyway along with the old metal tree stand.  If there’s some junk in there, it's better that Dean throws it out instead of letting it collect dust up here.

Dean’s taking a quick look through the boxes when he gets a text from Cas, wanting to know if he’s working tonight.

A couple of times a week, Cas will show up at the Roadhouse after he gets off work.  He’ll sit at the bar, sip on a beer, and shoot the shit with Dean while he works. Since Dean has been working more night shifts, they don’t get as much time to hang out anymore and visiting the Roadhouse was Cas’s suggestion. They can still hang out, Dean just has to make drinks for some strangers while they do.

He sends Cas a reply with his schedule and asks if he’ll be stopping by tonight. The anticipation of getting to see his best friend makes going to work something to look forward to. 

The boxes get abandoned in the living room for Sam to go through and Dean takes a shower and gets dressed. Killing time before he has to leave, Dean watches an episode of Dr. Sexy on Netflix and eats a turkey sandwich he threw together with whatever they had in the fridge.

He’s driving to the Roadhouse when he gets Cas’s response that he’ll be there around six o’clock. Dean schools the smile off his face before he walks into the bar. He doesn’t want Jo or Ellen to question his mood. One time he was smiling at his phone while having a text conversation with Cas, and Jo had teased him all night thinking he was texting some new love interest. When he finally admitted he had just been texting with Cas, he was subjected to even more teasing.

Charlie had told him that his crush was obvious to all but Cas (who was often oblivious to social cues) but Dean figured if he never actually admitted it, then no one could use it against him. The only person he had ever talked to about it was Charlie. He knew she would understand and wouldn’t tease him about it. Dean had confided in her a couple times but he tried to avoid bringing it up. He didn’t like to give in to the feelings. Cas is way out of his league and he doesn’t have time for a relationship right now, anyway.

Dean hangs his coat up in the back room, ties his apron around his waist, and slips behind the bar. Jo greets him with a nod while she pours a beer for the old man sitting in front of her. It’s pretty slow right now but it’s early yet. It always gets decently busy on Thursday nights. A lot of the college kids have Fridays off so their weekend starts tonight. Dean gets to work rolling silverware into napkins until the rush starts.

It’s several hours later when Dean spots Cas coming through the door. He has his usual uniform on - a suit and tie wrapped in a trench coat. His cheeks are flushed and he looks a little windswept, his hair in disarray. Dean thinks he looks sexy but immediately pushes the thought aside. He shouldn’t objectify his best friend, or so he tells himself.

Cas waves at Dean and takes the last empty bar stool down on the end. Dean has to pour a few drinks before he gets enough of a break to head down to the other end of the bar.  He sets down a pint of Cas’s favorite beer and greets him with a smile.

“Heya, Cas.”

Cas looks up from whatever he was doing on his phone (probably playing that stupid candy game) and returns the smile.

“Hello, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean waves him off and leans against the bar, watching Cas’s throat move while he takes a sip of the beer.

“How was work?”

Cas shrugs. “It was fine. Nothing unusual happened. How have you been?”

Dean had decided earlier that he would tell Cas about the secret santa and try to gauge his reaction. Cas is usually a bad liar so he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to tell immediately if Cas is the culprit.

Dean looks up to make sure there’s no one waiting at the bar. Thankfully, there seems to be a bit of a lull so Dean pulls the two sheets of paper out of his pocket.

“Well, last night I got a bit of a surprise,” Dean starts, trying to sound casual.

Cas looks interested so Dean unfolds the pages and hands them over.

Cas sets his beer down in favor of giving his undivided attention to reading the poems. He looks slightly puzzled while he's reading but he smiles at Dean when he hands them back.

“Your secret santa is very creative.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but, dude. They strapped a Christmas tree to the top of Baby!” Dean gestures wildly to emphasize how uncool that is.

Dean can tell Cas is being sensitive and trying not to laugh by the way the corner of his lip twitches. “Did they hurt your car?”

Dean pouts. “Well, no, but they easily could have! She’s a lady.  She deserves a gentle touch. And not to have a giant, sap-filled tree strapped to the top of her.”

Now it’s Cas’s turn to roll his eyes. “It sounds like your secret santa is trying to get you into the Christmas spirit. I approve.”

Dean groans dramatically in response.  “Come on, Cas, you’re supposed to be on my side here.”

There’s a smirk on Cas’s face when he shakes his head and changes the subject.

“Are you working tomorrow night?”

A heaving sigh slips from between Dean’s lips. “Of course. It’s the annual ‘Ugly Christmas Sweater Night’ here at the Roadhouse,” he drawls. “And obviously, they want to torture me.”

Cas ignores Dean’s dramatics, as usual. “Sam texted me earlier and asked if I could come over tomorrow night after work and help him with his history project.”

“A project?? Tomorrow’s his last day of school before Christmas break. How can he have a project?”

Cas shrugs, like it's not ridiculous to spend a break from school doing homework. “You know how proactive Sam is when it comes to schoolwork.”

Dean is proud of Sam’s work ethic when it comes to school but again he thinks Sam works too hard. He’s a kid. He should be out getting into mischief with his friends, not spending all his time doing homework.

Cas continues, “anyway, so I’m going to your house after work. I thought Sam and I could order some pizza while we work? So don’t worry about dinner for him tomorrow.” Cas takes another sip from his beer.

Dean uses the rag in his pocket to wipe down the ring of condensation left from Cas’s failure to use a coaster like a civilized person while he contemplates. He tries to say his next words casually.

“Thanks for helping Sammy with this stuff. I’m useless when it comes to all that so I’m glad he has someone else to help him.” Dean doesn’t look up.

It's quiet, but Dean can hear Cas scoff. He can also feel his disapproving stare and looks up to meet it. “You are not ‘useless with this stuff’, Dean. You’re very smart.” Somehow Cas can say that kind of stuff without sounding condescending, but it doesn’t mean it’s easier for Dean to accept.

Dean holds his tongue. They’ve had this conversation before and don’t need to have it again. Thankfully, Cas goes on without waiting for a response.

“However, I know you’ve been working a lot lately and don’t have the time, so I’m happy to help. I like spending time with Sam.”

Warmth spreads throughout Dean’s chest. Hearing his best friend talk about Sammy like that makes him feel...good. It’s nice to know that two of his favorite people care for each other. He’s glad to hear that Sam feels comfortable texting Cas and hanging out with him by himself.

Dean doesn’t know where to begin expressing that so he mumbles, “thanks, dude.” Cas just smiles at him fondly as if he understands what Dean can’t say.

Cas excuses himself to the restroom and Dean moves down to the other end of the bar to serve a customer.

His mind wanders back to the letters folded in his front pocket. Well, now he’s fairly certain his secret santa isn’t Cas. He had seemed genuinely puzzled and didn’t blush at all, a surefire way to tell that Cas is lying. Dean tries not to be disappointed. He was thinking that if it was Cas behind this all, then it might be proof that Cas returned his feelings. Dean goes back to work, feeling foolish for even entertaining the idea. It would never work out between him and Cas anyway, the guy was much better off not getting sucked in to Dean’s train wreck of a life any more than he already has.

It's a couple hours later when Cas decides to close out and head home. After he gets his change back and stuffs a few too many bills in the tip jar, he says his goodbyes and heads out the front door. Dean pours some more drinks.

At closing time, Dean goes through the same routine. Drying glasses, counting tips - $74 each tonight - a big improvement over last night (thank God for college students needing to blow off some steam). When he and Jo have finally done all the closing duties to Ellen’s satisfaction, he unties his apron and heads to the back room to get his leather jacket.

A white sheet of paper catches his eye before he can yank the leather jacket off the peg. It’s sticking out of the front pocket, folded in thirds this time.

Dean has almost forgotten about today’s gift. He’s been so preoccupied with thinking about yesterday’s poems that he forgot there would be another today.

He hesitates for a minute before retrieving the piece of paper and unfolding it. There’s another short poem in black ink printed on computer paper.

 

_On the second day of Christmas, your secret Santa gives to you_

_Something to shine some light_

_On this cold, dark, winter night_

_No Christmas cheer is more easily seen_

_When you get home, you’ll see what I mean_

 

Christmas cheer? That doesn’t sound promising. He’s trying to decipher what the poem means when Jo yells from the front of the bar, asking if he got lost.

Dean hastily dons his jacket and hurries back to the front, the poem clutched in his hand.

Jo has one hand on her hip. “What took you so long?” she demands.

Dean waves the piece of paper like a flag. Jo goes from exasperated to downright gleeful in one second flat. She’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Your secret santa strikes again! Gimme.” She rips the page out of Dean’s hand and reads the poem out loud for Ellen to hear.

They’re both just as stumped by the message as Dean is. Jo makes Dean promise to text her and let her know what it is as Ellen shoos her into the truck.

This time when Dean cautiously rounds the corner to the alley, he’s pleased to find Baby unharmed and exactly as he left her a few hours ago.

It’s another quiet night as Dean drives home. The world is especially dark thanks to the absence of a moon in the sky but his headlights guide him towards home.

He’s thinking about the cash he has in his pocket and in a jar on his dresser, wondering if he has enough extra now to get that video game Sam wants.

They haven’t done it in a while but Dean and Sam used to spend whole days playing video games together. They used to spend a lot of time together in general but now that Dean is working two jobs and a lot of night shifts, he feels like he never gets to see Sam. Dean is doing what he has to do and putting a roof over their heads and food in their mouths but he can’t help but miss his little brother. After Christmas, he’ll find a day when they can do that again - buy some junk food and soda and lounge on the couch together, killing zombies.

He’s still lamenting his new schedule when he sees it. Dean hits the brakes and jerks to a stop in front of the neighbor’s darkened house.

Dean and Sam’s small house stands next to it in opposition. There are Christmas lights, burning bright, strung around the entire structure - around the roof, the windows, the garage. There’s even some wrapped around the guardrails on the porch. They’re the old-school type with large multi-colored bulbs and they provide a striking contrast to the surrounding darkness.

It takes him a minute to put together the sight in front of him with the poem burning a hole in his leather jacket. This was the work of his secret santa? How the hell did they get away with this?

Dean eases off the brakes and parks in the driveway. He stands outside in the cold for too long, staring and thinking about how he hasn’t seen this house lit up in Christmas lights since before his mom died.

He doesn’t know how his secret santa pulled it off but he has to admit it does look beautiful. His mom would have liked it. Dean’s sure Sam hasn’t seen it yet or else he would have received an all-too-enthusiastic text by now.

When his hands start to go numb from the cold is when he finally goes inside. He remembers to snap a quick picture and send it to Jo but then he turns off his phone. He’s not in the mood to have a conversation with her about tonight.

The lights on the Christmas tree twinkle in the dark living room, a complement to the lights outside. Sam obviously made use of the decorations Dean left out. He walks around to the other side, appraising Sam’s work. It’s a little uneven but Dean likes it that much better for it.

There are Christmas lights, smaller multicolored bulbs this time, twinkling at him from between the branches. The ornaments are an eclectic mixture of ordinary red and green balls and the more unique. The “baby’s first Christmas” ornament with Sam’s name sits next to the shiny R2D2 his mother had given Dean one year. Perched on the very top is the angel that Mom loved so much. The dress is a little faded and it looks like Sam didn’t quite get all of the dust out of her hair, but besides that, it looks just like Dean remembers.

The tree brings back a lot of memories of their Christmases before their mom died. Dean only lets himself stare it for a minute more before he pulls the plug on the lights.

He turns up the heat and checks on Sam on the way to his bedroom. While he’s changing out of his jeans, Dean wonders briefly if he should be creeped out by his secret santa’s antics. If it’s Becky, he’ll definitely be creeped out.

If it is someone he can see himself actually liking though, he’s pretty sure he’ll find it sweet. The note from tonight goes into the dresser drawer, nestled among his socks, with the two notes from yesterday.

Then Dean goes to sleep, curious about what might be waiting for him tomorrow.


	4. The Third Day of Christmas

**_Friday, December 15th - the third day of Christmas._ **

It’s already dark by the time Dean clocks out at Bobby’s. The temperature has dropped and Dean is already shivering in his thin leather jacket. Despite the fact that it’s his least favorite night at the Roadhouse, he’s actually looking forward to getting to the bar tonight. It’s always nice and warm in there.

Dean shouts goodbye to Bobby, who’s tinkering around somewhere in the bowels of the garage, and jogs to his car. It’s not until he’s a few feet away that he notices the package sitting on the hood of his Baby. It’s thick and rectangular, wrapped in plain brown paper and twine.

Dean feels a quick stab of excitement. The last two gifts had been strange but nice. Sam was thrilled when Dean told him about the Christmas lights this morning. Whoever the secret santa was, they had managed to do it all without Sam seeing. They figured the mysterious do-gooder had strung the lights up during the day, while Dean and Sam had both been gone, and Sam hadn’t noticed them when he came home from school as it was still light out.

If whoever it was had done all that in the light of day, Dean was sure someone must have seen them. He’s tempted to approach his neighbors and ask if they had noticed who the person was stringing lights all over their house. The only problem with that was that the neighbors all avoided the Winchesters and their house. Dad had made quite an impression in their neighborhood. He’d gotten the cops called on him more than a few times for ‘disturbing the peace’. That was when he was at his worst. Drinking every night to the point of oblivion and shouting so loud you could hear him from the end of the street.

To be honest, Dean avoids the neighbors right back for the same reason. He’s embarrassed by the impression his Dad left, too. Sam is strangely well-adjusted and doesn’t take any of Dad’s shit onto himself, but Dean can’t let it go. He wishes it was that easy for him.

There’s a white square of paper folded on the top of package, tucked underneath the twine. Dean pulls it out and unfolds it carefully. The paper is damp and cold from the dusting of snow they received today and he doesn't want to rip it.

 

_Put away your flannel shirts and old band tees_

_Here’s something more appropriate for 30 degrees_

_Join in on the fun tonight at the bar_

_You’ll be sporting the ugliest sweater by far_

_Dean groans. No. Nope. Not gonna do it._

 

Tonight, is the ‘Ugly Christmas Sweater’ party at the Roadhouse and Dean’s least favorite night to work. They play obnoxious Christmas music too loudly, are forced to make stupid ‘festive’ drinks, and host a contest for the ugliest Christmas sweater. Usually, Dean gets by wearing a red flannel and being referred to as “Grinch” the whole night.

Now Dean is nervous to open the package. He doesn't think he’s prepared to see what his secret santa has chosen for him. Maybe he can get away with pretending he never received it. It’s perfectly probable that some thief had pilfered it from the hood of Dean’s car before he could get to it, right?

Lifting his head, Dean scans the dirt lot. It’s quiet and dark. Not a soul within view. The thin layer of new snow is virtually undisturbed besides Dean’s footprints.

Grumbling to himself, Dean grabs the package. The paper crinkles under his hand and he rips it off quickly, like ripping off a band aid. Even as he contemplates how he can avoid it, he knows that he’ll wear the offending item. The last two days of gifts had brought Sam enough happiness that he feels like he owes it to the secret santa now.

As he struggles to remove the item from the package, Dean’s fingers comb through faux fur, which he can see is an offensive shade of...lime green.

Recoiling, Dean unfolds the garment and holds it up into the yellow light spilling out from the garage. He has to give his secret santa credit. It is the most ridiculous ugly sweater he’s ever seen. It’s mostly red velvet with a thick swath of trim white fur running down the front. Near the bottom is a black band with a gold square in the middle, mimicking a large belt. It's reminiscent of a typical Santa suit. The only anomalous feature is the chartreuse fur; it’s long and wild, sticking out from around the neck, cuffs, and hem.

Dean gets the reference to the Grinch immediately and is torn between laughing and groaning in dismay. With his aversion to the Ugly Sweater Night, and his disinterest in Christmas in general, he gets compared to the grumpy, green recluse often. Mostly by Jo and Ellen.

For the first time, Dean wonders if Jo is behind all this. It would make sense. She’s been present every time he’s received a note so far, until tonight, and is taking an uncharacteristically gleeful interest in all of it. Who else knows so well how much Dean hates tonight’s events? And he knows she’s had a bit of a crush on him since they were little.

It’s getting late and Dean needs to get to the Roadhouse soon if he doesn’t want a tongue-lashing from Ellen. Dean grabs the sweater, crumpled wrapping, and note and throws it into the passenger seat with a little more force than necessary.

When he arrives at the Roadhouse, the alley is dark and still but he can hear the raucous noise from just inside. Dean stays in his car for a few moments, deciding if he should leave the offending item where it lays or actually put it on. He’d prefer to leave it in his car where no one will ever see it but him but if Jo is behind all this, she’ll know that he has it. If she’s not behind it, she’ll definitely inquire about today’s gift at some point in the evening.

Dean growls to himself and grabs the furry monstrosity.

The back door bangs against the wall, he opens it with such force, and he stalks into the back room. Thankfully, no one is there. Everyone is either in the kitchen or out in the bar area.

His leather jacket comes off and gets hung on one of the coat hooks. After a moment of hesitation, his flannel shirt follows. He feels practically naked standing there in his plain black tee.

Dean pauses. Is he really going to do this? Jo and Ellen will never let him live it down. He guesses that's the point: some friendly humiliation.

Without another thought, Dean yanks the hideous garment over his head and stalks through the doorway to the bar. He makes it through the crowd and behind the bar before anyone notices him.

It’s Jo who sees him first. She’s behind the bar, pouring a cheap beer from the tap, when she freezes. Dean is pretty sure the look on her face is genuine shock and he questions his earlier theory that she could be involved. The beer overflowing onto Jo’s hand seems to snap her out of it. She jumps back a little and has to wipe the glass off before she hands it over to the customer waiting on the other side of the bar.

Dean steels himself while Jo turns around, a look of pure amusement on her face.

“Holy shit,” is all she’s able to get out before she starts laughing.

Dean sighs, put upon, and puts his hands on his hips. “Alright, get it over with.”

Jo approaches Dean and runs her hands through the fur around his neck. She’s practically howling with laughter.

“This is so perfect, Dean. Who the hell talked you into this?” She can barely get the words out.

He clears his throat, embarrassed. “Secret santa,” he mumbles.

“Oh my god. This is too good,” Jo says. She’s too busy taking in the sight of Dean impersonating the infamous Christmas thief.

When she pulls out her phone from her apron pocket Dean steps back.

“No, Jo. No way. No pictures!”

Jo smiles mischievously. “Come on, Dean. There’s no way you’re going to be wearing that all night without me capturing it for posterity, so let’s get it over with.”

Jo gets the perfect picture of Dean glaring angrily at the camera.

He spends the rest of the evening grumpily serving drinks. The sweater is hot and itchy, which puts Dean in an even worse mood. Part of him, a rather large part, wants to rip thing off and throw it in the dumpster out back but he’s committed and he’s going to see it through. Besides, everyone has already seen him and Jo already has photographic evidence. There’s no point in quitting now.

The worst part is that quite a few of the customers laugh at him. He knows that's the point of all the ugly sweater nonsense but it takes everything in Dean not to snap at them. Last time he was rude to a customer, Ellen laid into him and it was kind of terrifying. He’s not going to make that mistake again.

When he ends up staring grumpily at a customer after she asks where he got ‘that adorable sweater’, Jo steps in and asks her to excuse her coworker’s bad attitude. “He hates Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.”

The bleach blond is wearing a plain fair isle sweater, probably one of those girls who can’t stand to wear anything considered ‘ugly’. She just laughs good-naturedly and makes a joke about the size of his heart before taking her ‘Ho Ho Ho-t Toddy’ to the dance floor.

Not much later, a few girls ask Dean to take a picture with them and he opens his mouth to refuse when he catches Ellen’s eye. She’s hauling a tray of empty glasses into the back but she’s also giving him a warning look. Dean sighs internally. She is way too observant. And she’s always had a creepy way of knowing exactly when Dean is considering misbehaving ever since he was little.

With the not-so-subtle reminder to behave himself, he poses for a few pictures and politely begs off with the excuse of being missed behind the bar. The only good thing about the night is that the bar is packed and being busy slinging drinks makes the time go by faster.

When Dean finally gets time for a breather, he slips away into the back room and checks his phone. There’s a few texts from Cas and he opens the messaging app to read them. The first thing he sees is a picture of himself in the sweater, a screenshot of Jo’s text to Cas.

“Goddammit,” Dean curses. Who else did she send that damning piece of evidence to?

The words beneath the screenshot: _I like your sweater_. With one of those stupid happy face emojis.

The next text is from just a few minutes ago. _Sam and I just started a LOTR marathon. Is it OK if I spend the night tonight?_

Dean shakes his head and mumbles, “nerds.” In actuality, he’s more than a little jealous. What he wouldn’t give to be lounging on the couch with Sam, Cas, and Aragorn instead of working this miserable party. The special holiday drinks are gross and time-consuming to make. The fur around his cuffs is already matted and sticky from a ‘Gingersnap Eggnog Martini’ mishap. And if he hears “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” one more time, he’s going to lose it.

Dean responds in the affirmative and ignores the text about the sweater. If he just avoids it, it’ll go away.

The last few minutes of his break are spent trying to regroup. He only has a couple more hours to get through until he can go home. The other cocktail server is closing with Jo tonight so he’s off at midnight.

Dean steels himself, purposefully avoids looking at himself in the huge mirror mounted on the back wall, and leaves the back room intent on returning to the bar and getting through the rest of the evening. When he hears the grating tones of Elmo & Patsy singing, “you can say there’s no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandpa we believe,” he nearly turns around and stalks right back to where he came from. Instead, he forces out a few calming breaths and takes his place behind the bar.

Dean is in the middle of mixing a ‘Meet Me Under the Mistle-tini’ when he’s jolted out of his trance by the screech of feedback coming through the ancient sound system. When he looks up, he sees Ellen standing on their makeshift stage, calling for attention through their only, sometimes dysfunctional, microphone.

After she thanks everyone for coming and participating, she holds up the giant jar filled with votes.

“Alright everyone, it’s time to announce the winner of the Ugliest Sweater Contest, who will receive the grand prize of $250 cash.”

Dean rolls his eyes and tunes out again, turning around to grab a bottle of vodka from the shelving stocked with various bottles behind the bar.

He almost drops it when he hears Ellen announce his name.

Dean makes eye contact with Ellen, who smiles right at him, “Or, ‘the hot Grinch bartender’, as you were more often described.”

Dean blushes as Ellen motions for Dean to come up to the front of the bar.

He stands frozen for a moment. What the hell? He didn’t even know employees were eligible for the contest. He probably would have willingly participated if he had known that.

“Come on, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

Dean sets down the bottle and wipes his hands nervously on the bar rag in front of him. He isn’t one for being the center of attention. When he gets to the front Ellen wraps one arm around him and asks everyone to applaud his win. Then she hands him a blank envelope containing two crisp one hundred-dollar bills and one fifty-dollar bill.

“Congratulations, Sweetie,” Ellen says quietly, only to him.

Ellen brings the microphone back up to her lips. “Everyone was very impressed with how you stayed in character all night.” She’s smiling at him knowingly and gives him a wink.

Dean is still a little shocked but he clears his throat too loudly into the microphone and says his thanks. While Ellen announces the runner up, he escapes back to the comfort of the bar. Jo is there waiting for him with a smug smile.

“See? Good things happen when you join in on the festivities and stop being a grump.”

Dean slips the envelope safety into his back pocket and shrugs. “Me being grumpy is what won me this cash, actually.” He smirks at Jo but concedes her point. “But I get it. If I didn’t wear this stupid sweater I wouldn’t have won. I guess my secret santa knows what's up,” he admits.

Jo fluffs the fur around his collar so it tickles his chin. “I think there’s a lesson here. You can spend all your time being grouchy and stealing everyone’s roast beast but it won’t stop Christmas from coming.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it. ‘Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more.’”

Jo shoves his shoulder playfully. “Get back to work.”

Dean finishes his shift in much better spirits than he started with. He gets another surprise when Ellen gives him his share of the tips for the night. It’s almost another $175.

He leaves out the back door with a spring in his step. He hasn’t had this much extra cash in a while. It will help a lot when it comes to buying gifts this year. Maybe he can even take a night or two off to spend with Sammy.

It’s almost 12:30 a.m. when he finally pulls onto their street. The Christmas lights are visible when he turns the corner and they guide him home.

It’s nice to see Cas’s pimp mobile parked on the street in front of the house and the tree in the living room is visible from the walkway, the lights muted by the sheer curtains.

When Dean gets inside, he finds Cas on the couch watching the Two Towers alone.

“Did Sammy ditch you?”

Cas pauses the movie and turns to watch Dean while he hangs up his jacket.

“Hello, Dean.” He smiles. “Sam went to bed a little while ago. What happened to your sweater?” He asks, too innocently.

Dean growls as he unties his boots. “Very funny. I left it balled up in the corner of my trunk where it belongs.”

He pulls out the envelope containing his prize and waves it at Cas as he approaches the couch. “Joke’s on you because that sweater won me the grand prize - two hundred and fifty smackeroos.”

Cas’s eyes twinkle with mirth. “That’s amazing. Congratulations, Dean.”

Dean leans against the back of the couch while he transfers the money to his wallet. “Now I have plenty of money to buy Sam’s Christmas presents.” He can’t help the smile stretching his cheeks.

“I’m very happy to hear that. It sounds like your secret santa gave you a great gift. The money is nice but did your heart also grow three sizes today?”

Dean sighs. “Ok, enough with the Grinch jokes, asshole. Want a beer?”

Cas chuckles but nods in the affirmative. “I saved some pizza for you. It’s in the fridge,” he calls to Dean in the kitchen.

“Awesome.” Dean swipes a few slices of the meat-lover’s out the fridge and two bottles of beer. He sees that the pizza money he left is still pinned under the plastic Grand Canyon magnet but decides to ignore it. Cas always pays when he can get away with it but Dean doesn’t like it. Even though Cas makes more money than he does and doesn’t have as many bills, he doesn’t like feeling like a charity case. Tonight, he lets it go because he’s in too good of a mood to want to ruin it.

Dean cracks the beers open and hands one to Cas, settling himself down on their old brown couch. The middle cushion is saggy but it's the best view of the TV, no matter that it puts him right next to Cas.

Cas takes a pull from his beer and gestures to the tree that’s off to the left of the TV. “I like your tree. It looks like it has a lot of memories on it.”

Dean is used to Cas saying things that are too earnest, it's part of his charm. “Yeah. We got all the decorations down from the attic. Haven’t seen them since Mom died. She loved that angel.” Dean gestures to the top of the tree. The angel sits nestled among the top branches, the lights reflecting off her gold wings.

Cas squeezes Dean’s forearm. “That’s really nice, Dean. I’m sure she would have loved to see you enjoying it again.”

Cas’s touch nearly makes Dean jump. It feels like an electric shock. Dean nods and clears his throat. “Let’s get back to the flick. We’re almost at the Battle of Helm’s Deep.”

That’s how Dean and Cas stay up until after 3:00 a.m. When Cas starts nodding off onto his shoulder, Dean chances a glance down at his face. His features are lax in sleep. His dry, pink lips parted. His face is close, those lips are close enough to kiss if he just turns his head a little. The warmth of Cas’s body pressed along Dean’s side stirs something deep in his abdomen. 

Dean abruptly decides to call it quits before anything else can happen and shakes him awake.

“Cas,” he whispers.

 Cas mumbles incoherently and blinks awake. “What?”

“You’re falling asleep on me, Man. Time for bed.” Dean gently extricates himself and starts to get up. “I’ll get a blanket and pillow from the closet. You need anything else? Wanna borrow some PJs?”

Cas looks too cute half-asleep. He stretches his arms over his head and reveals a sliver of stomach and indecently prominent hipbones. Dean turns away to go get the extra bedding.

Thankfully Dean isn’t in Cas’s range of vision when he says “No, thanks. I sleep in my boxers.”

Dean’s mouth goes a little dry when Cas gets up and starts undoing his jeans right there. “Um, yeah, okay, cool.”

It’s certainly not the first time he’s seen Cas half-dressed but it's been awhile. Cas strips his jeans to reveal a pair of heather gray boxer briefs, obscenely tight over his thick runner’s thighs. All of a sudden, Dean’s face feels overly warm and he knows he must be blushing fiercely.

Dean coughs and tries very hard not the look at Cas’s bulge on prominent display. He dumps the blanket and pillow onto the couch quickly and makes his escape. “Night, Cas,” he calls back over his shoulder.

He hears Cas call back, “goodnight, Dean.”

Dean must be imagining the smug inflection to Cas’s voice.

The door to his bedroom shuts behind him and he leans back against it.  Dean prays Cas didn’t catch on to his probably unwelcome attraction. He’s hopes Cas was drowsy enough to not be too observant. A sigh escapes Dean’s lips and he shakes his head to himself. He just needs to keep a tighter rein on himself in his best friend’s presence from now on.

While Dean gets ready for bed, he takes a moment to thank his secret santa, wherever they may be. This Christmas is turning out to be the best he’s had since his mom died and he has only one person to thank. If only he knew who they were.


	5. The Fourth Day of Christmas

**_Saturday, December 16th - the fourth day of Christmas._ **

Dean’s gift for today appears on his porch. When he gets home late from his shift at the Roadhouse, it’s just sitting there on the doormat - a bottle of bourbon with a big red bow tied around the neck.

He picks it up to get a closer look. The glass is so cold from the snow, it burns his fingers. Dean shoulders the door open and gets inside to examine the gift somewhere warmer. He stomps the snow off his boots and takes them off, leaving them next to the door, and makes his way to the kitchen in his socks.

The bourbon is a good brand - better than Dean would ever buy himself. The note is tucked underneath the ribbon. He sets the bottle down carefully on the counter and unfolds it.

 

_Today’s gift is something just for you_

_Go relax by the fire with a glass or two_

_You’ve been working really hard and deserve a break_

_So here’s a bottle of your favorite for you to partake_

 

Dean smiles as he pulls down a glass and breaks the seal around the neck of the bottle.

He hardly ever drinks hard stuff anymore. After watching his dad practically kill himself with it, he’s usually happy to stick to beer. That doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a nice glass of whiskey now and again.

He never indulges around Sam. He doesn’t want him to see Dean drinking like that after having to watch his dad do it so self-destructively. He never lets himself get drunk like that anyway, but he doesn’t want to risk bringing back bad memories for Sam.

That being said, it just so happens to be Saturday, which is when Sam and his dorky friends have a sleepover every week and play some nerdy games or whatever it is they do together.

Dean pours himself a few fingers and goes to relax on the couch. His secret santa is right. He _has_ been working hard and he _does_ deserve a little break. He takes a sip from the glass, the whisky warming his chest on the way down.


	6. The Fifth Day of Christmas

**_Sunday, December 17th - the fifth day of Christmas._ **

 On the fifth day of Christmas, Dean gets into his Baby to drive to the night shift at the Roadhouse, as usual. What is very unusual is the note taped to the dashboard. Dean just sits and stares at it for too long. He definitely just unlocked his door when he got in.

Dean leans over the bench seat to try the passenger door. That one’s still locked. He turns to check both back doors but the locks on both doors are still down.

How did someone get in to leave a note??

Turning back to the front of the car Dean rips the note from where it’s been affixed and reads it.

 

_Four days have passed and the fifth day is here_

_Christmas Day draws ever more near_

_While some Christmas tunes are bound to annoy_

_I made you a mixtape of songs you’ll enjoy_

 

Dean searches the seat and foot well for a tape but when he comes up with nothing he pushes eject on the tape deck. Out pops a nondescript black tape. It looks like every other tape Dean has in the shoebox in the backseat but when Dean turns it over, the label is blank. It can’t be one of his because he meticulously labels all of his tapes. Things like “Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx” and “Best Songs to Get Laid to”.

Dean pops it back in and turns up the volume. The first song is “I Wish Everyday Could be Like Christmas” by Bon Jovi and he thinks he gets the idea. It appears to be a mix of Christmas songs performed by classic rock artists. He’s not sure how he feels about it but he’ll give it a chance.

He lets the tape play while he drives to work.

The first song comes to an end and then the next song starts up seamlessly - “Merry Christmas Baby,” sung by Bruce Springsteen.

By the time he parks behind the bar, he’s singing along loudly to Billy Joel’s rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”.


	7. The Sixth Day of Christmas

**_Monday, December 18th - the sixth day of Christmas._ **

Dean awakens the next morning to Sam literally jumping on his bed. He groans and rolls away towards the wall.

“Sammy. What the hell,” he moans from underneath a pillow. It’s Dean’s first full day off in over a week and he was looking forward to sleeping in as late as he wanted. It’s also Sam’s first day of Christmas break. Apparently, he’s very excited about it.

“Dean! You got a gift from your secret santa!” Sam exclaims, ripping the pillow off his head.

Dean rolls onto his back and squints at Sam. “Huh?”

Sam sighs, exasperated, and presents a plain brown gift bag to Dean.

Dean just stares at it for a little too long, still half asleep.

“Open it, Dean!” Sam thrusts the package into Dean’s arms.

Dean takes his time sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The sun is especially bright filtering through the blinds. He takes the gift bag carefully out of Sam’s hands and sets it in his lap.

“Okay, Okay, I’m opening it. Keep your panties on, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes and drops heavily onto the bed.

“I just found it at the front door when I looked outside to see the snow.”

Dean leans back towards the window and pulls back the blinds. The yard is covered in a white blanket of fresh snow.

Dean lets the blinds fall back into place and gets back to the gift. He’s sifting through the tissue paper when he feels something rough brush against his fingers. He grabs onto it, pulling it out carefully.

Strangely, its two long sticks nestled together. Dean stares at them for a minute before sharing a look with Sam, who looks equally confused.

Dean sets the sticks aside and blindly dives back into the bag, searching for something to explain the odd gift. He feels something wooly and pulls it out from the confines of the tissue paper. It’s solid red and unfolds over his hands - a scarf.

A scarf is an okay gift but what does it have to do with the sticks? What could this present could possibly mean?

Dean upturns the bag and dumps the rest of the contents onto the bed.

Inside the mass of white tissue paper is one large carrot, several briquettes of charcoal and a piece of paper, folded into fourths. Dean opens it and reads it aloud for Sam.

 

_Your task for today will in many ways_

_bring back memories of childhood days_

_A favorite winter activity of yours long ago_

_You and your brother must make a man out of snow_

 

Suddenly the contents of the bag make perfect sense - all the items necessary to build a proper snowman.

Sam hops up and down where he sits, shaking the bed. “It’s perfect, Dean! We just got fresh snow last night.” His voice is pure excitement and Dean just wants to flop back against his pillows. Making a snowman wasn’t exactly on his shortlist of ways to spend his day off. On the other hand, seeing Sam so happy is pretty cool.

“Okay, Okay,” Dean gives in, shoving all the items back into the bag and handing it over to Sam. “Go get your snow stuff on. I need some coffee first.”

Sam bounds off like an overexcited puppy.

Dean briefly considers crawling back under his covers and getting a few more minutes of shut eye. It won’t do him any good. Sam will come jump on him again before he could fall back asleep.

With a groan, Dean gets up and gets dressed.

Sam is already in the kitchen when Dean gets there. He beelines straight to the coffee pot and begins the ritual of measuring the grounds and filling the carafe. Soon enough, the rich aroma of coffee suffuses into the air as it starts percolating and Dean takes a deep breath.

“Want some breakfast, Sammy?”

Dean can hear Sam sigh from across the room. “It’s almost noon, Dean. I already had cereal like three hours ago.”

“Well, good for you. Lunch then?” Dean pulls out the cutting board and starts rummaging in the fridge. “I have to start the roast for tonight too.”

Dean had thought a full day at home was the perfect opportunity to try that recipe Ellen had given him. He and Sammy could have a nice home cooked meal and the leftovers would make good sandwiches for the week. He had even invited Cas to join them for dinner. The poor guy ate more takeout than was reasonable or healthy but he was hopeless in the kitchen. Dean often invited him over whenever he made something decent.

“Dean,” Sam whined. Literally whined. “How long will that take?”

Dean takes a deep breath while he pours a hearty helping of coffee into his favorite enamel mug.

“About thirty minutes. Why don’t you go outside and find the best snow to use for our man?”

The steam is visible curling up into the air from the mug and Dean reluctantly sets it aside to cool. He can practically hear Sam roll his eyes but, with practiced ease, he ignores him.

“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”

Dean can hear Sam pouting and ignores that also.

“I’m trying to make a beautiful pot roast for our family to enjoy.”

The carrots come out of their bag and join the onion on the cutting board. “Just give me like twenty minutes, Sammy, then we’ll build the best snowman you’ve ever seen.”

Sam, very maturely, storms out of the kitchen.

As soon as Dean puts the roast in the oven and wolfs down the sandwich he slapped together, he calls Sammy down to venture outside.

“Finally, Dean.”

Dean actually bundles himself in his snow boots and down jacket this time. He’s still pulling on his gloves and hat when Sam abandons him for the great outdoors.

They struggle quite a bit at first, rolling a giant ball of snow for the foundation of the snowman. It’s a lot harder work than Dean remembers and he’s huffing, puffing, and sweating before he knows it.

There are a lot of distractions that keep them from timely completing their mission. Like when Dean shoves a handful down Sam’s collar and makes him squeal like a pig.

Dean gets his comeuppance while he’s trying to adjust the stick arms just so. Sam shoves snow down the back of Dean’s jeans, which results in a ten-minute wrestling match in the middle of the yard. They’re both cold and wet from the snow but refuse to give up until their snowman stands tall and proud on their front lawn for all to see.

A half an hour later they have a perfectly passable snowman. It’s not quite perfect - it tilts a little too far to the left, but Dean can honestly say that it's the best snowman he has made to-date.

“We did it, Dean.” Sam stands proudly next to it, his hands on his hips.

“Teamwork, Sammy. Good job.” Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders. Dean doesn’t realize until too late that he put himself in such a vulnerable position.

Sam throws the snowball, hidden in his hand for who knows how long, at point blank range. Dean is pretty sure his left cheek is bruised as the snow slithers down his neck and into his collar.

“Oh, that’s it!”

Sam has already stumbled away from Dean with a devious smirk. Dean stoops to grabs a handful of snow and packs it clumsily, too quickly, before hurling it in Sam’s general vicinity. Sam leaps behind the snowman and the ball of snow misses him completely.

“Come on, Dean, that was weak,” Sam taunts.

Dean scoops up some more snow. His gloves are soaked through but he won’t let that stop him. This time his aim is true. The snowball hits Sam right on the left temple.

An all-out snowball _war_ ensues.

At one point, Dean takes refuge behind the Impala. When Sam throws a snowball that hits the passenger door dead center, Dean has to make his displeasure known.

“Come on, Sam, not Baby! What did she ever do to you?”

Sam ducks behind the large oak on the edge of their yard, but he takes a shot to the head when he peeks out to get eyes on Dean. The snowball explodes on impact and leaves clumps of snow clinging to Sam’s too-long hair. Sam shakes his head, like a wet dog, trying to displace the melting snow.

Dean is laughing loudly at Sam when he gets a snowball to the back of his head. The unexpected hit stops him abruptly and his head whips around to find the transgressor.

He’s surprised to find Cas standing on the snow-covered sidewalk, wiping his gloved hands together to rid them of snow. Is it really 4:30 already? He and Sam must have seriously lost track of time.

“Cas? What the hell? You’re supposed to be on my side.” Indignation colors Dean’s voice.

Cas smiles. He finally ditched the trench coat for a more seasonally appropriate black peacoat. His hair is rumpled and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. He looks... _good_.  Dean stares a little too long before Cas speaking snaps him out of it.

“There are no sides in snowball fights, Dean. It’s every man for himself.”

Dean waits a beat before he stoops low to grasp a fistful of snow, as quick as he can. He barely has time to pack it into a lopsided sphere and throw it towards Cas by the time Cas is running for cover. The snowball misses its target by a mile.

Cas makes it to the side of the yard and into the embankment, ducking low and out of sight.

“Get him, Sammy!” Dean shouts, running for the oak tree. That will teach Cas about the importance of loyalty.

Sam lobs a snowball into the embankment blindly, and suddenly, it’s a two-on-one fight.

Dean joins Sam, and they pack two perfectly round snowballs. Dean uses hand signals to communicate without tipping Cas off and they approach the ditch slowly, trying to avoid the telltale crunch of footsteps to announce their advancement.

They’re halfway there, out in the open, when Cas pops up over the ridge and starts throwing. He must have made a few snowballs while he was crouched down there because he throws three in quick succession. The one aimed at Sam grazes his ear and falls to the ground. The first one aimed at Dean misses completely but the second one hits its mark. It collides with Dean’s face, dead center. The cold, wet, flakes stick to his skin and cover his eyes.

He feels Sam leave his side and run back towards the oak. Traitor. Dean is stuck where he is, blind, when he feels another two snowballs hit. One on his chest and the other on his thigh.

Cas laughing and Sam quickly joins in. _Oh, that’s it_.

When he finally blinks the snow out of his eyes, he sees Cas barely standing, trying to stay upright through the laughter. In a split second, he makes his choice and rushes towards Cas, who finally looks less than amused.

He’s ducked down to grab more snow, nowhere to run, when Dean collides with him. They scuffle a bit and Dean lands on top of Cas, his thighs bracketing Cas’s hips.

Dean grabs a handful of snow and rubs it gleefully in Cas’s face.

“Gotcha.”

Cas sputters and struggles, trying to throw Dean off of him. They end up fighting for dominance, Dean with the upper hand having pinned Cas already.

Cas grabs a handful of snow and tries to stuff it down Dean’s shirt. Dean grabs Cas’s wrists and pins them down in the snow. No way that guy is getting any more snow on Dean.

They finally still. Both are breathing hard and flushed from the cold and exertion. Cas has bits of snow sprinkled throughout his dark hair and his lips are parted, his breathe leaving them in a fog. He looks perfectly kissable and Dean can imagine the warmth of Cas’s breath on his own lips before they would meet.

Snow is melting down his neck and into his collar.

It’s only then that Dean realizes that they are in a compromising position. He’s straddling Cas and has his arms pinned above his head. They’re bodies are flush where they meet over Cas’s hips. Dean clears his throat awkwardly and says, “I win.”

Cas smiles a beautiful smile and looks up at Dean. He must be imagining the intensity he sees in his bright blue eyes. Dean slowly gets up, leaving Cas laying in the snow, his entirely black outfit a stark contrast against the blindingly white snow. He gives new meaning to the term ‘snow angel’.

Dean reluctantly stands up, freeing Cas, and Cas heaves himself up.

“Fine, Dean, you win.” He says it indulgently.

“Damn right.” Dean dusts himself off and yells at Sam that they’re calling it quits and going inside to warm up. The chill has started to get to Dean and he can’t wait to get inside and build a fire.

While they trudge across the lawn to the front door, Cas points to the snowman. “I like it.”

They all three go inside and shuffle around each other in the entryway, unlacing boots, shedding coats and gloves and scarves.

“It smells wonderful in here, Dean,” Cas comments, hanging his coat on the coat rack by the door.

It does smell really awesome. The roast is almost done and the rich scent of meat and vegetables fill the house.

It’s warm already but Dean goes to the fireplace to build a new fire. There’s nothing like a roaring fire while it's snowy outside. His mom used to make him hot chocolate and they would drink it together while sitting in front of the fireplace, thawing out after a long day of playing in the snow.

Dean decides to continue the traditional and make some hot chocolate for the three of them today. With the fire lit and roaring in the fireplace, he gets up to head into the kitchen and is stopped by Sam.

Sam pulls Dean into a hug silently. It throws him for a loop a bit because he and Sam aren’t normally cuddly with each other.

“What’s up, Sammy?”

“Thanks for today Dean. It was fun.”

Dean ruffles Sam’s hair. “You should thank my secret Santa.”

“No, _thank you_ , Dean. It was fun to spend time together today. We haven’t hung out in a while.”

It’s true. Dean has been working a lot lately and hasn’t been able to spend all the time with Sam that he would like to.

“I know. I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m going to go back to working fewer nights soon so we can see each other more.”

Dean doesn’t like leaving Sam alone at night while he works but he needed more cash for Christmas and nights pay out better tips. Now that Dean has some extra cash for presents, he can drop a couple nights.

“I hate to end this chick flick moment, but I have to go check on the roast.”

Sam rolls his eyes and elbows Dean. “Whatever, Jerk.”

Dean smiles. “Whatever, Bitch.”

Sam goes upstairs to change and Dean goes to the kitchen.

Cas is there already, getting a drink of water. He’s stripped down to just his black slacks and white shirt. The sleeves are rolled up his elbow, exposing his forearms to the world. They’re tanned and toned. Dean has never considered himself a forearm man but Cas’s are damn nice. He’s also unbuttoned his collar, exposing his collarbone. He looks more mouthwatering than the roast smells.

“Thanks for inviting me for dinner, Dean.” Cas leans back against the counter and takes a long drink from his glass. Dean watches with fascination as his Adam’s apple bobs.

“You’re always welcome, Cas. You’re part of the family.”

Dean cracks the oven open and takes a look at their dinner. It’s looking pretty good, but it’s going to need about thirty more minutes.

When Dean looks back up, Cas looks a little more emotional than is warranted with the fact that Dean has called Cas family many times in the past couple years.

“You okay, dude?”

Cas nods. “I’m fine.” He avoids Dean’s eye. “Gabriel called me today.”

Gabriel is Castiel’s goofy older brother. He lives in California and only comes to visit a couple times a year. Last year Cas went to visit Gabe for a week and sent Dean a lot of pictures of palm trees and the ocean.

“Is something wrong?” Dean asks, nervously.

“No, he just told me he won’t be able to make it for Christmas this year. He’s going to visit our parents.”

Dean didn’t know much about their parents except for they live in Illinois, are very religious, and had basically disowned Cas when he came out to them when he was in college. Cas hasn’t spoken to them since.

“Why is Gabriel going to see them? Doesn’t he hate them too?” Dean is sure if his parents had disowned Sammy, he wouldn’t speak to them anymore either.

Cas shrugs. “Mother guilt tripped him into coming this year.”

“Well, that’s shitty, Cas, but you were planning to hang out with us anyway.  We have that party at the Roadhouse on Christmas Eve and then Christmas Day at Bobby and Ellen’s. You can spend the night, it’ll be fun.”

Dean felt a sense of pride in bringing a smile to Cas’s face.

Bobby was fond of saying “family don't end in blood” and Dean found it to be a rare piece of brilliance from the old man. He and Sam had a family cobbled together by forces greater than blood relation. Bobby and Ellen, Jo, Cas, Charlie, are all part of the family Dean has gathered around himself and his brother.

Not too much later, Dean, Cas and Sam are sitting around the second-hand kitchen table in mismatched chairs, sharing a good meal and laughter.

 


	8. The Seventh Day of Christmas

**_Tuesday, December 19th. The seventh day of Christmas._ **

 The next day dawns clear and bright.  Some of the snow from yesterday has melted and, unfortunately, the snowman has turned into more of a misshapen blob.

Dean wakes up a little before noon, thankfully, without any help from his brother. He sighs happily and rolls over to the cool side of the bed. Well, he tries to. A solid mass gets in his way. A solid mass that groans on impact.

Shit. He almost forgot.

He and Cas had stayed up quite late after Sam went to bed and drank some more of that nice whiskey. Quite a lot of it, actually. They both had stayed firmly in the not-quite-drunk category but it had loosened Dean’s tongue enough for him to invite Cas to share his bed instead of weather a night on the old, saggy couch.

Nothing ‘untoward’ had happened, but it had been nice just to fall asleep next to a warm body. The warm body of the dude he had a huge secret crush on.

“Sorry, buddy. Forgot you were there.” Dean mumbles, moving back to his side of the bed.

Cas just groans again. When he rolls over Dean makes out “too much whiskey.”

“Dude, you are such a lightweight.” Dean chuckles and sits up, the covers pooling around his waist. Thank god he does not have an awkward morning boner right now. He doesn’t think he would be able to handle it in such close proximity to Cas lying prone in his bed.

“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Dean asks, suddenly remembering it’s a weekday.

“After you poured me that second glass, I emailed everyone and told them I was working from home today.” Cas’s voice is a little more coherent, but still especially rough. It's certainly, definitely not really sexy.

“Mmm, smart.”

Cas stretches. His arm brushes Dean’s and he almost jumps out of his skin.

“I guess I’d better go home and actually work.”

Dean pushes down the disappointment that Cas’s words bring. He’s bummed Cas is taking off but he’s supposed to be spending time with Sammy today anyway.

Dean watches discreetly from the comfort of his bed while Cas gets up and starts to pull on yesterday's clothes over his black boxer briefs and white undershirt.

“Want some coffee before you go?” Dean asks. “I’m going to make a pot.”

“Thank you, Dean, but I better get home. It’s late.” Cas actually sounds disappointed to decline.

He gives Dean a smile and wishes him a good day before he leaves Dean’s bedroom. Dean can hear him saying goodbye to Sam downstairs and winces. He’s sure Sam is going to give him shit.

Deciding to face the music, Dean gets up, pulls on some flannel pants and goes downstairs to start the coffee.

He only gets to the bottom of the stars when the front door opens again. It’s Cas and he’s holding a plain brown gift bag.

“This was on the porch,” he explains, holding the bag out to Dean.

Dean meets Cas at the entryway to take the gift from him.

“Secret santa strikes again.”

The gift bag is heavy and Dean is a little worried about what might be inside.

“Want to see what it is?” Dean asks Cas, who nods eagerly.

“Sammy! Secret santa brought a new present. I’m opening it now.”

Sam rushes into the living room from the kitchen and plops onto the couch next to Dean. “Open it, Dean!”

“Okay, okay, geez.” Dean pulls some tissue paper out and gets to the contents of the bag. When he reaches his hand inside he feels a paper package. He pulls it out and is perplexed to find a small bag of flour. Dean passes it over to Sam and looks inside at what else the bag holds.

He finds some other baking supplies - sugar, butter, a pie tin, and a bag of apples. The square of white paper is sitting on top and Dean pulls it out and reads aloud for his audience.

 

_Baking is a staple of the holiday season_

_an activity for which you don’t need a reason_

_Here is a recipe and all the ingredients required_

_For you and your brother to make a pie to be admired_

 

Underneath the note is a recipe for apple pie. Mmm, Dean loves pie. He smiles at Sam. “Looks like we’re making some pie today.”

Sam rolls his eyes but smiles back. He calls Dean’s obsession with pie a fetish. “Sounds good to me.”

Dean asks if Cas can stick around for the fun but he insists he has to do some work and leaves for real this time. As soon as the door closes behind him, Sam turns to Dean, his smile turned devious.

“So. You and Cas.”

Dean sighs internally, determined not to let anything show on his face.

“Me and Cas, what?” Dean repacks the gift bag, oh-so-casually.

“I thought he went home last night but he came out of your bedroom this morning.” Sam’s voice has a teasing lilt to it.

Dean gets up to head into the kitchen and finally, finally, get his much-needed coffee.

“We just bunked together. His back couldn’t take another night on our shitty couch,” Dean explains. It’s not technically a lie since they do have a shitty, uncomfortable couch. Cas has never complained about sleeping on it, but Sam doesn’t need to know all that.

Sam is following closely behind Dean. “So, you guys didn’t do anything...romantic?”

Dean scoffs, “Romantic? Do you mean, did we bang? No, Sammy, we’re just friends.”

After he fills the coffee pot, he turns to look at Sam who looks a little put out.

“What?” Dean asks.

“I just thought you liked Cas,” Sam says.

Dean turns around and crosses his arms across his chest, leaning against the counter.

“I do like him, Sam. He’s my best friend. He’s like family.”

Sam starts pulling stuff out of the gift bag and doesn’t look at Dean. The flour, sugar and other supplies all end up laid out on the kitchen table. “I heard you talking to Charlie when she spent the night a couple months ago and you said you had feelings for him.”

Dean is shocked. And a little betrayed. “You were eavesdropping?” Dean asks, sternly.

“No! No. I just came down to get water and I overheard you guys. I didn’t mean to,” Sam pleads.

Dean takes a deep breath and looks away. He can’t be mad at Sam. “It wouldn’t work out, Sam. It’s better that we’re just friends and we are. Just friends. Cas doesn’t know about all that so don’t tell him.”

Sam sighs and gives Dean a sad look. “I’m not going to tell him. I just don’t get why it won’t work out. You spend a lot of time together and he likes boys too.”

Dean opens him mouth to tell him it's not that simple but Sam cuts him off. “And sometimes I think he has feelings for you too. It’s the way he talks about you when you aren't there. And the way he looks at you.”

Dean turns around to fill his mug with the freshly brewed coffee and also to avoid Sam’s gaze. “You’re fourteen, Sam. You don’t understand this stuff. Just let it go.”

“Fine.” Sam sounds petulant but he gets out a mixing bowl from their eclectic collection of cookware and opens the note to read the recipe again.

Dean insists on making breakfast before they get to the pie (even though it's afternoon, I can still eat breakfast, Sam, thank you very much).

But after they finish the bacon and Dean loads the dishwasher, they get down to pie.

Dean pulls out his old ghetto blaster and they play the mixtape his secret santa gave him while they follow the directions. Dean shakes off the unsettling conversation with Sam and they get back to their brotherly rhythm of teasing and bickering.

At the end of the day, the kitchen is a disaster, somehow flour got all over everything, partially from Sam dropping the bag and partially from the very irresponsible flour fight that ensued after. Dean sends a picture of Sam covered head to toe in flour to Cas, who responds with the crying-laughing emoji.

By the time they clean up the kitchen, the whole house smells like apples and cinnamon. Once it’s cool enough to touch, they take the entire pie to the living room and eat it for dinner right out of the tin. They watch Die Hard, which Dean insists is the best Christmas movie but Sam disagrees. They end up arguing about it for almost an hour and Dean texts Cas to back him up.

By the time Dean goes to bed, Sam having been asleep for a couple hours, he’s full of pie and happier than he’s been in a while. He didn’t realize work was taking such a toll on him but he’s been feeling run down. A couple days off and some stupid tasks from his secret santa and he’s feeling downright jolly.

Before he drifts off, he thinks again about the secret identity of the gift-giver. Could it seriously be Becky doing all this? No matter how nice the gifts have been, he can’t help but feel disappointment at the prospect. He’s pretty much ruled Cas out at this point but a secret part of him thinks… _maybe_. Could he be Dean’s secret santa?

Could something actually happen between them, like Sam is so sure of? ... _maybe_.


	9. The Eight Day of Christmas

**_Wednesday, December 20th. The eighth day of Christmas._ **

Dean’s working the day shift at the Roadhouse today. Ellen had asked him a couple days ago if he could switch with Tessa. Apparently, she needed the night shift today and Dean had agreed. He wasn’t happy about missing the all-day marathon of old westerns he was planning to watch but he was looking forward to having the night off to spend with Sam.

He plans to hit up the grocery store after work and make something nice for them for dinner, then he and Sam could just spend the evening lounging around and watching Netflix.

Dean arrives at work with a travel tumbler full of black coffee and a spring in his step. He’s actually feeling good today. He didn’t even mind having to wake up before ten.

Today, no one gets an attitude or a piece of his mind. He actually smiles at customers. Ellen keeps giving him weird looks and asking what’s got him so cheerful. He’s not quite sure what to say, though. It could be spending more time with his family lately, the gifts from his secret santa, or maybe it's just the Christmas spirit getting to him. Not that he will admit that to anyone.

Waiting tables and running food and beers gets him through the day quickly. He’s a couple hours out from finishing up his shift and dreaming about steak. Maybe some mashed potatoes. And he’ll throw in some broccoli for Sam. Weird kid and his love of vegetables.

Dean is searching for an extra pen in his apron pocket when he finds it. His hands brush against a piece of paper and he pulls it out of the pocket curiously. It’s folded in a perfect square with black lettering on the front: “To Dean, From Your Secret Santa”

Dean finds himself almost bubbling over with excitement. All of the secret santa’s surprises have been nice so far and he’s anxious to see what awaits him next. Sneaking off to the back room, he unfolds the page quickly and two small pieces of paper flutter to the floor. He stoops to pick them up before he reads the message.

 

_Today’s gift is something I hope you’ll appreciate_

_Pick up Sam and be at the old Fox theatre by eight_

_Where popcorn, cookies, and hot cocoa abound_

_You’ll see a Christmas movie that is most profound_

 

Dean’s heard about this. The old theatre downtown has a Christmas extravaganza for a few weeks every December. They play “It’s a Wonderful Life” on their only screen and serve Christmas cookies and hot chocolate. Carolers are always perched outside and market booths spring up along the street to sell Christmas wares. Dean has never attended but he's driven by it plenty of times.

In all honestly, the one and only time he had seen the old black and white movie, he thought it was a little boring.  Dean knows Sam likes it, though. He calculates the timing and thinks he’ll still be able to cook dinner before they have to head out to make the movie.

While Dean is slipping the note and tickets into his back pocket, something suddenly occurs to him. Whoever the secret santa is couldn’t possibly know that he switched to the day shift last minute. They wouldn’t know he would be free for the eight o’clock movie. There are only two options that explain his Secret Santa knowing his new schedule.

One, they’re colluding with Ellen. The Roadhouse owner could have easily told someone his schedule and let someone in the bar to slip the tickets into his apron pocket. Maybe Ellen had even switched him from the night shift tonight just so he could go to this movie.

The other option is that the secret santa is actually Jo. He was sure it wasn’t but now he’s not so certain. If Jo is behind it, then Ellen would surely help her out by rescheduling him. The thing he finds hardest to believe about this idea is that Jo would spend this much time and money on him. They have more of a teasing big brother/little sister type of relationship than the heartfelt, bringing-Christmas-cheer kind of relationship. Still, it could be.  

It would certainly be a lot more bearable than finding out that it’s Becky Rosen. And a lot more disappointing than other options. There’s a small piece of Dean that’s still holding out hope that his secret santa could be Cas.

Dean isn’t sure what to think so he decides to just act like he doesn't suspect a thing and go on with his day. While pouring drinks and rubbing elbows with Jo behind the bar that day, he can’t help looking at her and wondering – is she the one behind it all? He spends the entire day looking for clues that never come.

He gets through the last of his shift and barely stops to yell goodbye to Ellen and Jo before he hangs up his apron and books it out the back door.

The entire drive home, he can’t stop wondering who his mysterious gift-giver is, if it’s not Jo. He makes a nice dinner for himself and Sam and they get to the theatre early so Sam can look at all the Christmas booths.

Sam finds a carved pocketknife he takes a shine to but he leaves it where he found it and moves on to the next booth. Later, Dean circles back while Sam is distracted talking to a classmate and buys it to give to Sam as a Christmas present. He also finds a dark brown handwoven leather bracelet that reminds him of Cas, so he buys that too.

Thankfully, both gifts can fit discretely in the pocket of his jacket. Dean plans to hide Cas’s gift from him as well. He doesn’t want to have to endure another talk about his feelings for his best friend from his little brother.

Dean and Sam watch the movie with two hot chocolates and a pile of cookies between them and Dean realizes it's not so boring after all.  He’s glad it's dark in here because he tears up at the end of the movie and, if Sam saw, he’d never live that down.

After they get in the Impala, Sam talks Dean into driving around the nicer neighbors to look at Christmas lights. Dean grumbles at first but looking at all the extravagant light displays is actually pretty cool.

He and Sam cruise the streets in the Impala until late at night, listening to his mixtape on repeat. Dean ends up telling Sam whatever he remembers about the Christmases before their mom died. It’s nice to reminisce about good memories but it's depressing for Dean to think that Sam never got to experience any of those great Christmases.

By the end of the night when they pull into their driveway, Dean is glad that his secret santa is forcing him to make this year a better Christmas for Sam. The kid deserves it.

While Dean is getting ready for bed, Sam knocks on the closed door of his bedroom.

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asks, pulling the door open wide.

Sam has the look on his face that means he’s going to emote and Dean braces himself.

“I just wanted to say thanks for tonight. It was really nice to hear about those Christmases with mom. I’m glad you told me about them.”

“Anytime, Sammy.” Dean grips Sam’s shoulder and squeezes. “Now enough of this Lifetime movie crap.” 

“If you hate Lifetime movies so much than why did I see you watching one last night?” Sam asks accusingly.

Dean sputters in response. “It’s called channel surfing, Sam,” he says defensively as he shoves his little brother out into the hallway.

“Sure, Dean,” Sam says with a smirk before Dean closes the door on him.


	10. The Ninth Day of Christmas

**_Thursday, December 21st. The ninth day of Christmas._ **

Jo is busy taking the order of the only person currently in the bar so Dean decides to duck out to his car to grab his phone. He must have left it there when he came into work because he can’t find it in any of his pockets. Keeping his phone on him at all times is something he likes to do in case Sam ever calls. Sam has had the number to the Roadhouse memorized for years so it’s not an emergency, but Dean still feels uncomfortable without the weight of it sitting heavy in his front pocket.

He goes through the back room and is reaching for the doorknob connected to the door that leads out back when something makes him pause. Through the window his eye catches movement around the big black form of his Baby. Dean presses himself up against the frozen glass to get a closer look.

As soon as the culprit moves towards the driver’s side of the car, he realizes exactly who it is. He’d know him anywhere.

Even though he’s not wearing his usual tan coat, Dean can tell by his stature and the way he moves.

It’s Cas. He’s donning all black again today, his peacoat buttoned up tightly.

Dean is confused.

He doesn’t know why Cas would be sneaking around his car but he’s no longer alarmed. With a steadier heart rate, he watches for a moment to make sense of the scene playing out in front of him.

Kneeling in front of the car, Cas appears to be fiddling with the grill. Dean grits his teeth. Cas isn’t exactly a threat, but he’s still not happy that he’s doing...whatever it is he’s doing to his car.

When Cas finally gets up, Dean can see what Cas’s body was blocking before. He’s affixed a big red ball to the center of the grill. Huh. Okay…

Dean’s breath is fogging up the glass so he moves over a little to get a better view. He watches in bewilderment as Cas unlocks the driver’s side door and slips inside the car. Cas rolls down the window and attaches a huge antler to it before rolling the window back up. Dean can barely make out his form sliding across the bench to do the same act of vandalism to the passenger side.

A memory comes back to him from a few months ago. Cas’s piece of shit car had broken down so Dean had offered to drive Cas to work the next day while they waited for the part to come in.

Instead, Cas had offered to drive himself to work in the borrowed Impala so Dean could sleep in on his day off. Dean had given him his spare key to the car and apparently had forgotten to get it back.

The thing is, Dean doesn’t necessarily care that Cas still has the keys or is using them to turn his beautiful car into a giant joke. He’s really just wondering - why?

He guesses it must be some sort of Christmas joke he’s not privy to. When Cas stops to take a picture of his handiwork with his iPhone, and slips around the corner with a smile on his face, Dean almost doesn’t bother asking why. Cas is probably sending the picture around to all his friends for a laugh.

He almost forgets what brought him to the window. After waiting one more minute to make sure Cas doesn’t double back, he pushes open the door and heads outside to his defiled car.

It’s not until he’s almost at the driver’s side door that he notices it. He was so busy giving the nose and antler dirty looks, he nearly missed it. There’s a white square of paper pinned under the windshield wipers.

Dean pulls it out and stares for several long moments. In black writing, it says “To Dean, From Your Secret Santa”.

He stops dead in his tracks.

Does this mean what I think it means?

Dean unfolds the paper with shaky hands and reads the note.

 

_The ninth day of Christmas is here_

_And I thought of one more way to spread cheer_

_Though your car never fails to draw everyone’s gaze_

_Festive accessories will improve these last few days_

 

He flips it over to the back and then front again. There’s nothing else. Just like all the other notes. It’s the same plain, white paper, the same black font.

Confusion and hope fight for dominance. He thinks this means that Cas is his secret santa. Doesn't it?

He can’t quite believe it but all the evidence points towards that conclusion. The thought crosses his mind that it could be Cas helping someone else to pull off these secret santa tasks, someone whose identity is still unknown.

He supposes that could be true. When he thinks about it, he can totally see Cas putting the time in to make the Winchesters’ Christmas memorable. Dean had told Cas that he wasn’t going to get a Christmas tree this year even though Sam begged him to; he couldn’t justify wasting the money on it.

Cas knew all too well how much of a Grinch Dean was and that he had hated the whole season because Dean’s past Christmases that were shitty far outweighed the ones that were awesome. He knew how much Dean wanted to spend some quality time with Sam, and he himself would never have suggested making a snowman together, or going to a dorky Christmas festival. Even though, he has to admit, those things were really fun and worthy of sharing with Sam just to see how happy it made the kid.

Cas had a habit of always knowing what Dean needed before he did himself and this secret santa could have just been a way to give Dean exactly that without knowing who was giving it to him or why. There’s no way Dean would have gone along with all of this if it had been Cas suggesting it. If Cas had bought them a tree and insisted on putting up lights around their house, Dean would have fought him tooth and nail.

The whole operation - from the nerdy poems to the thoughtful gifts - all stunk of Cas. He had thought so before. Hoped so. But he hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up. He didn’t want to be let down, as he often was in his life thus far.

But now he was sure. It was him. Cas was his secret santa. And...his secret _admirer_?

Cas was just that type of guy, to go to all that trouble just to make his best friend’s Christmas special. It was very possible it was all innocent. He just couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that he wanted it to be true. Part of him wanted Cas to have feelings for him, whether that would be the right thing for Cas or not. He just wishes Cas would tell him himself instead of through a secret identity.

Maybe all he has to do is admit to Cas that he has feelings for him. Maybe it wouldn’t be the fairytale Dean secretly wished for but at least he would get it out there. And if Cas didn’t feel the same way, he’s sure that they would still be friends. It was a terrifying idea but then he could put it all out there and know for sure, one way or another. Cas might not return his sentiments but he wouldn’t think less of Dean for having them.

If there was one thing he trusted about Cas, it was that he wouldn't let him down.


	11. The Tenth Day of Christmas

**_Friday, December 22nd. The tenth day of Christmas._ **

Dean had spent the rest of the day yesterday in a kind of a fog. He went through the motions to get to the end of his shift and left the bar as soon as he could. He wanted to talk to Ellen but she wasn’t at the Roadhouse yesterday. She had one of her very few days off while Tessa managed.

After thinking about what all had transpired last night, he knows that Ellen had to be in on the secret. With all of the gifts that had been snuck into the Roadhouse, and his conveniently switched shift, there’s no way his secret santa could have accomplished those things without Ellen’s help. She has to know. And he’s mad that she didn’t tell him that it was Cas all along.

Cas texted him yesterday evening and Dean had texted back, just like usual. He didn’t want to let on to what he witnessed yesterday. Instead he sent Cas a picture of the Impala with its stupid nose and antlers and said, ‘ _look what some asshole did to my car_ ’.

Cas had responded with some choice emojis, that dork. That stupid, lovable dork.

Thankfully, Dean works a day shift today so he doesn’t have to wait too long for Ellen. As anxious as he is, he actually gets to the Roadhouse early. He parks hastily in the alley and slams the door to the Impala after he gets out.

“Shit. Sorry, Baby,” Dean apologizes immediately, rubbing the black paint softly with one hand.

He has to admit, she looks a little ridiculous with the Rudolph costume on. Well, more than a little. But the fact that Cas put it there has Dean tolerating it. Normally, anyone who put this crap on his Baby would have been laid out already. For some reason, Dean will let Cas get away with practically anything.

Dean storms inside the door leading in from the back alley. He walks straight through to the back and angrily hangs up his coat, struggling with the sleeves for a moment before ripping it off.

“Is that you, Sweetie?” Ellen calls from her office.

They have about thirty minutes before the bar opens for lunch so the front of the Roadhouse is empty and quiet.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean growls.

Once Dean has tied his apron on, a little too tightly in his fury, he marches through the back room and into Ellen’s office. She’s sitting at the desk in front of her computer with a fresh cup of coffee steaming at her elbow and looks up when Dean enters and raises an eyebrow.

He’s not sure what his face is doing but he feels anger bubbling in his stomach.

“Something wrong?” Ellen asks.

“Yes, something’s wrong,” Dean erupts. Now that he has Ellen’s undivided attention, he’s not exactly sure what to say. “Cas,” is all that comes out.

A beat of silence. “What about Cas? Is he okay?” Ellen asks.

“What?” Dean asks, caught off-guard by the question. “Yeah, he’s fine. I think.”

Ellen doesn’t look impressed. She sighs and leans back in her chair. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I don’t get it. You’ll have to help me out a little here.”

Dean huffs and crosses his arms across his chest. “Cas. Or should I say my secret santa? You knew the whole time. You helped him! Don’t deny it,” he accuses, indignantly.

Ellen looks a little surprised at first but she schools her features quickly. “The identity of your secret santa is supposed to be just that, Dean. A secret.”

“Yeah, well I caught him yesterday defiling my car. So I know it’s him. And I know you’ve been in cahoots with him.” Cahoots? Who actually says that? Dean even points his finger at her angrily, feeling more ridiculous by the second.

Ellen shrugs. “He just asked me to help him out a little. He told me his plan and I thought it was so sweet. What are you so upset about?” Ellen looks honestly baffled. For the first time all day, Dean doesn’t feel vindicated – he feels doubt.

“Because,” Dean starts weakly. He crosses his arms back over his chest. Instead of anger though, it feels like some sort of protection. “You guys were sneaking behind my back.”

“That was the whole point of it, Dean. So you wouldn’t find out who your secret santa was.” Ellen speaks gently, like he’s a wild animal she’s trying not to provoke.

Dean just shakes his head. It was still wrong of his best friend to surreptitiously creep around his house, his place of business, his _car_. Right?

“It’s still wrong,” he says out loud, sounding petulant despite his best efforts. 

 Ellen folds her own arms over her chest in mimicry. Her eyebrows are raised incredulously and she gives him a look. “The whole idea of a secret santa is to be a _secret_. I don’t think I should have to explain that to you.”

Dean shrinks a little. He can only stand it for another minute, what Jo calls Ellen’s ‘mom look’. He finally gives in and throws himself into the uncomfortable chair opposite Ellen’s desk. His head drops into his hands, his elbows on his knees.

Dean hears Ellen get up and come around the desk but he doesn’t move. He feels her hand on his back, strong but soft, just like her voice. “What’s wrong, Honey? Talk to me.”

Ellen rubs his back gently. The string of his apron cuts into his stomach. There’s a pain in his chest.

He rubs his face with both his hands and lets them fall all between his knees. He avoids Ellen’s gaze by staring at the ground. There’s a stain in the gray industrial carpet covering the floor that Dean can’t take his eyes off.

“It’s just…” Dean starts off strong but loses his momentum. “Cas.”

That didn’t come out right. He starts again. “All this secret santa stuff. Do you think…” Dean swallows. Is he actually going to say this? _Out loud_?

“Do you think it means he likes me?” Dean’s voice sounds small and childish to his own ears.

Dean expects Ellen to say something along the lines of “of course he likes you, Sweetie, he’s your best friend,” and he winces preemptively.

Instead, she says softly, “He’s never said as much, but I’m pretty sure.”

She hasn’t stopped rubbing his back. It feels nice. He remembers his mother rubbing his back for him when he was younger and couldn’t sleep. She used to sing to him when he had nightmares and when he was scared she would hug him and tell him everything would be okay. He wishes so much that she was here right now, it aches.

“This can’t come as too much of a shock, Dean. That boy’s been following you around for years, looking at you like you hung the moon.” Ellen is gentle. She probably senses how volatile he feels.

No matter how tender she is, it doesn’t stop the sick, cold fear that slithers down into his stomach. The anger at himself.

“He can’t, Ellen. He can’t.” Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I thought this was a good thing. I can tell plain as anything that you’re in love with that boy.” Ellen’s words are soft but Dean feels explosive.

He stands up quickly, displacing her hand.

“It’s not a good thing, Ellen!” Dean’s voice is way too loud for the small space but he can’t help it. “Cas can’t love me! This is bad. Horrible!” Dean growls and runs an angry hand through his short hair, making it stand up on its ends.

“I wish I had never done this secret santa bullshit. I knew it would be trouble and it was. It is! Cas can’t want me. This is all wrong!” Dean is breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon. And the sudden silence feels deafening after all his yelling.

He finally looks at Ellen. Instead of shock or anger he sees sympathy. Something he doesn’t want right now.

“Oh, Honey.” This time when she grabs him and pulls him into a hug, all the fight has drained out of him. He feels weak. But he still doesn’t want Ellen’s sympathy.

“Ellen.” Dean practically whines. “He can’t. He can’t love me.” A word that usually is so hard to come by slips out of his mouth. As soon as he says it, he knows that’s what it is.

“And why’s that?” She asks, softly.

“Because. I want him to.” Dean sighs and lets his forehead drop onto Ellen’s shoulder.

“It’s wrong, Ellen. He’s so good and I’m so fucked up,” Dean says quietly.

Ellen makes a sound of protest but he goes on before she can say any more.

“I don’t have anything going for me. I work two shitty jobs, I have a fourteen-year-old kid to take care of and a mortgage. I barely get by. I’m a mess.” Dean feels the pressure build up behind his eyes but refuses to let himself cry. “I don’t have anything to offer him.”

Ellen runs her hand through Dean’s hair, her fingernails dragging along his scalp. “That’s not true, Sweetie.”

Dean snorts. “Which part of that is not true?”

“The part where you think you aren’t good enough for that boy. So, he has some fancy job. So, what? There’s other things he doesn’t have that you do. He doesn't have a family to rely on. Or to kick his ass when he needs it. Besides you,” Ellen says.

Dean breathes out a weak laugh and shakes his head into Ellen’s neck. She goes on, “Cas doesn’t need anything you ain’t got. He does okay for himself, he don’t need you to support him. Love ain’t about that, Son. Trust me. You think I married Bobby for his fortune?”

Dean laughs quietly and pulls away from Ellen’s embrace. “No.”

“It’s not just that. What if…” Dean starts but Ellen stops him.

“Don’t ‘what if’ me. I know what the problem is. You’re scared. It’s plain as day. And it’s perfectly normal, Sweetie. You’ve never been in a real honest-to-god relationship before. It’s scary. I know it is; I’ve been there. But it’s time for you to man up and jump in.” Ellen’s voice has taken on a rougher tone. She’s doling out tough love now and Dean is obliged to listen.

“Trust me. When I first met Bill, I was terrified.” Her voice gentles. Ellen rarely brings up her first husband so Dean knows better than to interrupt.

“I was younger that you - not even 21 yet. And he came in and swept me off my feet. I was scared too, but you know what? I thank god every day that I jumped in anyway.” Ellen’s expression is dead serious.

“You never know what could happen. Just take it one day at a time. And you tell that boy how you feel about him. Let him make his own decisions about what's good for him.”

Dean feels...well, he doesn’t know what he feels. But he understands Ellen's point. And he knows she’s right.

The only thing holding him back is fear and that’s no way to live.

Dean decides right then and there that, come Christmas, he’ll tell Cas how he really feels, and whatever happens, he’ll deal with that later.

Exhaustion overcomes him and he hasn’t even started work yet. He and Ellen are a few minutes late in opening up but there’s no one breaking down the door, anyway. When Dean gets settled in behind the bar, he finds today’s gift. It’s propped up on one of the shelves behind the bar as it has been, probably all morning.

By the flat, square shape of the present, Dean can tell it's an album on vinyl. He bypasses the note altogether and rips off the plain, brown paper. Underneath the wrapping is a beautiful sight.

It's a vintage copy (not ‘remastered’, thank god) of Led Zeppelin I in what looks like great condition. It’s the only Zep album that’s missing from his collection. He found it at the record store downtown once but the price was much too steep for him.

It’s beautiful. He pulls out the record and looks at it closely before sliding it back in the sleeve.

 _Damn_ , he thinks, _it must be love_.


	12. The Eleventh Day of Christmas

**_Saturday, December 23rd. The eleventh day of Christmas._ **

It’s Saturday night and, for once, Dean’s not working. He took the night off specifically to participate in the last trivia event of the year. It also happens to be the night the secret santa exchanges are to take place. Dean hasn’t received any covert gifts yet today so he figures Cas must be bringing it to put under the Roadhouse’s fake Christmas tree like everyone else.

Dean bought Jo a new knife for her knife collection and he places it under the tree as soon as he gets there. It looks like a five-year-old wrapped it but that’s to be expected.

He’s about fifteen minutes early. He usually shows up about the time that the first question appears on the TV, but tonight he’s very nervous. He’s already sweated through his undershirt and he just got here so he sneaks behind the bar and pours himself a nice cold beer. He needs it.

The first half of the beer disappears quickly before Dean forces himself to slow down. Everything is going to be fine, or at least, that’s what Dean’s been telling himself. He’s just going to pull Cas aside after the trivia game and secret santa exchange is over and tell him that he’s been madly in love with him for years. Simple.

Dean feels the icy hand of fear squeeze his heart again and he takes a deep breath.

It will be totally fine.

Dean grabs his team's usual table and sits there, lost in his beer. Benny finally arrives and he draws him into a conversation about whatever atrocity their dick coworker at the garage afflicted on him today. It’s a good distraction. Almost too good, because Dean loses track of time somehow and now it's a little after eight and most everyone has arrived by now.

Except for Cas.

Dean scans the room quickly and can’t find him in the crowd. The dude’s usually early to everything, so he finds it a little strange he’s not here yet.

Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks it in case Cas texted him.  

Nothing.

Dean opens up the messaging app and clicks on his message thread he has running with Cas. He shoots off a text telling him they need their history buff and asking when he’s going to get here.

Fifteen minutes later and Dean can barely concentrate. He’s worried about Cas and keeps checking his phone every thirty seconds. Every time he wakes it up, the screen is devoid of text notifications.

He sends another text. _Are you okay??_

Dean makes it about halfway through the trivia game before he breaks. In between questions he stands up abruptly and tell his team, “sorry, guys. I have to go.”

“What?” Benny asks, but Dean’s already gone. He weaves through the tables and straight out the back door without stopping.

It’s not like Cas not to text and tell Dean he’s going to be late. And it's certainly not like him to ignore his texts. There has to be something wrong. Dean tries to call Cas twice while he drives the route to Cas’s apartment. He doesn’t pick up.

Dean is super nervous now. He feels panicked. What if something bad happened to him? What if he’s hurt? Or was in a car accident? There’s some ice on the roads and that car he drives is a piece of shit.

Dean tries to breath and drive slowly enough to be safe in these conditions. He can’t stop thinking of what bad things could have befallen Cas to prevent him from texting Dean.

Dean finally makes it to Cas’s apartment complex in one piece. He pulls into a visitor’s spot a little recklessly before he jumps out of the car and runs up the first flight of stairs.

As Dean approaches Cas’s apartment, he can tell that the lights are on inside. That’s good news. Maybe Cas had just fallen asleep. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well.

Dean can’t help pounding on the front door a little harder than necessary.

He waits impatiently.

A minute later the door opens, revealing Cas in red and black plaid pajama pants and a huge gray tee shirt. He looks exhausted and ...not well. His hair looks unwashed and is flattened against his head, and he looks like he was just roused out of bed. That doesn’t matter; he’s unharmed, not dead in a ditch somewhere.

Thank god.

“Shit, Man. You scared the crap outta me. Are you sick?” Dean asks, both relieved and annoyed. If Cas was sick, he should have told Dean earlier. He could have made him his mom’s famous tomato rice soup and not have been worried out of his mind when he didn’t show up to trivia.

Cas doesn’t immediately respond and Dean searches his face. He’s not looking Dean in the eyes. He eventually sighs and says, “no, I’m not sick, Dean.” His voice is rougher than usual.

Dean is stumped. “Then what’s wrong? You missed the trivia Christmas party. And you didn’t answer my texts or calls. I thought something bad happened to you,” he says accusingly.

Cas snorts humorlessly and props a hip against the door. “Dean, you can stop pretending.” Cas finally meets Dean’s eyes and his gaze is hard and cold.

“Uh...what?” Dean says intelligently. He has no idea what Cas is talking about and he’s shocked by his demeanor. He’s never seen that look on Cas’s face directed towards him before.

Cas sighs. “I know you know, Dean. I overheard you talking to Ellen yesterday when I came to drop of your gift at the Roadhouse.” He raises his chin defiantly but his blue eyes are mournful.

The bottom drops out of Dean’s stomach. “What?” He repeats hollowly.

“I wasn't eavesdropping. You were shouting,” Cas starts, a little defensively. “You found out I was your secret santa and you were upset. You said you wished you’d never signed up for the gift exchange. That you were disgusted when you realized it meant that I had feelings for you.” Cas’s voice is hard as steel, and, under his six o’clock shadow, his jaw is clenched tightly. He looks and sounds angry but anyone could see the hurt in his eyes from outer space.

Dean is devastated. Cas has never looked at him like that before. Having Cas’s anger directed at him is like a knife to the heart and seeing the pain he’s caused is even worse.

“No, Cas. You have it all wrong.”

Dean grabs desperately for Cas’s arm, pleading, but Cas steps out of his reach and farther into the apartment. The knife digs deeper.

“I swear, Cas. Listen to me!” Dean begs. He doesn't know how this all went wrong but he has to make it right.

“I don’t know exactly what you heard but I know that it probably sounded like that to you…,” Dean pleads.

Cas's arms are folded and his face is stone.

“… but you got it all wrong. Trust me!” Dean extends his arms towards Cas but doesn't make the mistake of trying to touch him again. “I _was_ freaking out yesterday, but I’m glad you’re my secret santa! I’m glad it’s you.”

The expression fixed on Cas’s face hasn’t moved and Dean feels his hope deflating. Maybe this is it. Maybe Cas is just done with him. Maybe it doesn’t matter what he says.

It’s only a split second later that Dean decides. _No_. This is his only chance. He’s going to fight as hard as he can until Cas tells him to go home.

The pressure is building behind his eyes and Dean has to clear his throat to stave off the feeling of his throat closing. He blinks hard several times.

“Shit.” Dean mumbles, smearing a hand across his face.

When he gets the courage to look up again, Cas’s expression has finally changed. It’s softened, if not by much.

“Cas,” Dean starts, not really knowing what he’s going to say next. He has to come up with something to win Cas over but he’s been silent for too long.

Dean swallows thickly and starts again. “Cas, I’m so sorry that you overheard that and it made you feel like this but you have it all wrong.”

Cas steps closer and leans against the door jam, looking at Dean like he’s waiting to hear an interesting lie.

“I saw you. On Thursday, when you were degrading my Baby with those reindeer ears,” Dean starts.

Cas’s lips twitch and he actually speaks. “Antlers.”

Dean is surprised to hear Cas’s voice but something loosens in his chest at the sound. “Ok, whatever,” Dean says off handedly. “Anyway, I saw you and I realized you were my secret santa. And I -” Dean stops abruptly. Is he really doing this? In the dingy hallway of an old apartment complex?

Cas looks expectant.

Yes, then.

“I was a little surprised not to see Becky Rosen putting that red nose on my grill,” the corners of Cas’s mouth lift minutely, “but, I was really happy it was you, Cas.”

Dean evaluates Cas’s expression and sees that it’s thawing. He decides to go on. “I was. I am.” Dean can’t believe he’s going to say these words out loud.

“I’ve had a crush on you practically since we met,” Dean admits, shakily. His heart is racing and his palms are sweating. He feels the enticing desire to run but keeps his feet planted firmly on the ground through willpower alone.

Ok, that’s out. And now he’s going to blow right past it. “All the stuff you did, as my secret santa, it was awesome, Cas. I figured it meant you maybe had feelings for me.” Dean’s voice is higher at end, like it’s a question, even though he doesn’t mean it to be.  “Like how you included Sam in everything and gave him a good Christmas too. You’re the only person who knows how much that means to me.”

He finishes his outburst and gets nothing back but Cas’s measured gaze. Dean has never doubted anything as much as he doubts his previous assessment right now. What if Cas did all that stuff as his best friend? No extraneous feelings to be found? What if Dean just laid his heart on the line to some guy who sees him as nothing more than a buddy? Shame prickles, preemptively, all over his body and he can feel the blood rush to his cheeks. He’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. He’s being stared at, in all his utter humiliation.

But then Cas nods, and all is right with the world again. Cas actually does have feelings for him. All of the doubt and fear leave Dean in an instant and he feels weak.

Dean can’t help the smile that spreads across his undoubtedly bright red cheeks. The smile is reluctant at first, and small, but it appears just the same. Dean’s heart feels light. Ok, he can do this.

“Cas, you don’t know how glad I am to know that.” Dean steps closer, still not crossing the threshold. “And how scared,” he admits. “Yesterday, what you heard, was me being terrified. I wasn’t ‘disgusted’ or mad. I swear. I was happy. And scared.”

Dean surrenders to his lungs’ desire to heave a deep breath. It’s getting colder standing out here in on the balcony but he can’t move until he’s exhausted all options, including begging and pleading.

Cas looks a lot more interested than he did a couple minutes ago but he still hasn’t invited Dean inside.

Ok, time to put it all out there.

“I already told you I had a crush on you forever. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, part of my family, and you’ve helped me through the hardest parts of my adult life. And you’re so hot,” he finishes on an exhale. Did he say that last part aloud?

Dean doesn’t care because Cas’s smile has grown exponentially.

“But what you overheard was me freaking out about the idea that you could like me back.” Dean feels like the protagonist in a Lifetime movie but he has to go on.

“Because you’re so awesome, Cas. And I’m just me.” Dean gestures down at himself.

“You know the whole story. I have two shitty jobs, a kid, and a mortgage. I’m not good enough for you, Cas.” Dean looks down at the rubber welcome mat and scuffs his boots on it.

When Dean looks back up, Cas looks more murderous than when Dean first arrived. He almost takes a step back.

“Dean. You know I hate when you talk like that.” Cas finally sounds like himself again and Dean rejoices. He can take the rebuff. “There’s nothing about you that’s not good enough for anyone.”

Dean decides not to contradict him.

“I get to determine what’s good for me and I love you.” Cas sounds defiant but Dean can’t believe his ears.

“What did you just say?” Dean asks, incredulously.

Cas pauses but then he seems to make a decision and determinately looks Dean right in the eyes. “I love you.”

Holy shit.

Absolutely nothing comes to him except - “I know,” Dean says, in his perfect imitation of Han Solo. His smile is ear to ear.

Cas sighs and rolls his eyes but his smile is huge.

Dean finally breaches the threshold and steps into the entryway. He grabs Cas’s left hand and Cas lets him. Dean hasn’t said these words out loud to anyone since his mom died but he finally feels safe enough.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

Cas’s eyes twinkle with amazement. The smile slowly melts from Cas’s face into a more serious expression. His face that is so close Dean’s; they’re standing toe to toe. Dean dips his head slowly, giving Cas plenty of time to pull away.

He doesn't.

Their lips meet.

It’s soft and perfect. Dean finally gets to feel the warmth of Cas’s slightly chapped lips against his own and it’s so much more than he imagined. Dean feels Cas’s hand curl into his hair and pulls Cas closer by the small of his back. The solid warmth of his body feels perfect through Cas’s tee shirt.

After one glorious minute, Dean reluctantly ends the kiss before he feels compelled to take it too far.

 When he pulls back, Cas looks up at him a little dazed.

They just stare at each other for a moment. Dean is feeling raw and exposed so he breaks the silence with the first thing to come to mind.

“So, where’s my gift for today?”

Cas rolls his eyes and pulls Dean into the apartment, finally, and out of the cold, shutting the door behind him.

Cas tells him to stay “right there” in the living room, and he disappears into his bedroom.

Dean feels elated in a way that has to be unreal. He’s pretty sure he’s going to wake up any second.

Cas returns with a small gift in his hand. It’s wrapped in plain brown paper and there’s a white piece of paper folded on top. It’s the same as all that came before. The black text on the front reads, ‘To Dean, From Your Secret Santa’.

He unfolds it and reads the poem he now knows was penned by Cas.

 

_The eleventh day of Christmas has finally come_

_So it’s time to honor something you receive comfort from_

_A picture of your mother you always keep near_

_Here’s something to hold it a little more dear_

 

Dean isn’t quite sure what it means so he sets it aside, leaving it teetering on the back of the couch. He focuses his attention on unwrapping the small package. He feels Cas’s eyes on him as he struggles with the paper.

When Dean finally gets it off, a very small picture frame is revealed. It’s plain wood, stained a deep, rich brown. It looks just about the right size for the 20-year old picture of him and his mom that he keeps on his bedside table.

Cas’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “I measured the picture so I could make it to fit perfectly.”

Dean looks up. “You made this?”

Cas nods. He looks apprehensive. “Do you like it?”

 Dean looks back down at the frame. He runs a hand along the wood. It’s sanded smooth. “It’s perfect, Cas,” he whispers, affectingly. “Thank you.”

The glass reflects his face back to him and it’s so much -  that he has to turn it over.

Dean thinks about the layer of dust probably gathered on his mother’s face right now and swallows down the emotion. Instead, he steps into Cas’s waiting arms, hugging him tightly.

“Thanks, Cas,” he repeats

Cas whispers, “you’re welcome,” and rubs a hand up and down Dean’s back.

Dean jumps when he gets a text alert and laughs at himself. He can’t help being a little jumpy. He’s had a wild day.

The text is from Sam, reminding Dean to pick him up from Kevin's.

“Shit. I have to go get Sam,” Dean announces.

Cas nods. “Of course. We can...continue this later?” His voice tilts hopefully at the end.

“Yeah, okay, but why don’t you just come with me?” Dean asks. “We can go get Sam and maybe a pizza because I was too nervous to eat earlier and now I’m starving. Then we can talk?” Dean thinks he probably sounds hopeful, too.

Cas’s smile is so bright. “I’d like that Dean.”

They both leave Cas’s apartment together. Dean, with his gift in one hand and his keys in the other. Cas, with an overnight bag hanging off of one shoulder. He changed into jeans and tried to fluff his hair up into some semblance of his normal appearance.

Cas laughs when he sees the Impala, still clad in her reindeer get up, and throws his bag into the foot well before sliding into the passenger side of the bench seat. Dean slips into the driver’s seat and carefully sets the frame down next to him.

Cas grabs Dean’s hand when the first song from the mixtape starts straining through the speakers and they don’t let go all the way to the pizza joint.


	13. The Twelfth Day of Christmas

**_Sunday, December 24th. The twelfth day of Christmas._ **

They hadn’t said anything to Sam last night but he had noticed their clasped hands almost as soon as he made it into the backseat.

He had flipped out and forced Dean to tell the whole story about catching Cas, subsequently freaking out to Ellen, and then losing it when Cas didn’t show up at trivia that night.

Sam was so rapt, he didn’t even snake a slice out of the pizza box that was sitting beside him. Instead, he leaned forward, his arms folded over the back of the front seat, his face between Dean’s and Cas’s, listening intently.

Dean felt lighter, getting Sam’s exuberant approval. He didn’t even mind the, “I told you so, Dean!”

They scarfed down the entire extra-large pizza on the couch watching movies. Sam spent the entire time asking uncomfortable questions like, ‘are you guys boyfriends now?’ And ‘does this mean Cas is going to move in?’

Thankfully, Cas expertly deferred Sam’s questions and Dean filed them away to bring up to Cas later, in private.

Sam did ask a few appropriate questions too. Like ‘when did you get all the Christmas lights up?’ And ‘were you planning to tell Dean at the end of the twelve days?’

Cas’s answers were ‘I left work early and strung them up in the afternoon’ and ‘I hadn’t decided yet.’

Sam cooed when he saw the frame Cas gave him but Dean felt uncomfortable discussing the existence of the picture. It’s something he’s always kept close by but he’s never talked about out loud. How it makes him feel good to wake up every day and see his mom’s smiling face. The photo is a silent, daily reminder of his mother’s love, which most days feels really far away.

Today, it fills up the cavity in his chest until he feels like he’ll burst with it.

He wakes up for the first time on Christmas Eve morning with Cas asleep in his arms and nothing else can compare to that feeling of _home_. They’re warm under the navy-blue duvet that covers Dean’s bed. Cas’s back is tucked tight against Dean’s chest and Dean has an arm slung around Cas’s middle but he pulls away a little to see Cas’s face.

Dean gets to watch his eyes scrunch adorably against a sliver of light that’s escaped the blinds and then flutter open. Cas is grumpy in the morning but he turns in Dean’s arms and presses his face against Dean’s chest to hide from the light.

It’s too cute.

Dean rubs Cas’s back and snuggles closer. He could get used to this. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers into Cas’s ear. Dean hears and feels Cas grumble into his chest something that sounds like, “Merry Christmas” in response.

They shift together, settling into a more comfortable position, and then doze off for a little longer. When Cas stirs again, he’s more coherent. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean smiles and kisses Cas softly, because he can do that now. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

They lay in bed together a while longer. They have hours until the Christmas Eve party at the Roadhouse and nothing requiring their attention.

When Cas turns on his phone to check e-mails, Dean finds out Cas has changed his background to the picture of him wearing the Grinch sweater. They struggle across the bed when Dean attempts to rip the phone out of Cas’s hand so he can delete it. They wrestle until Cas pins Dean, straddling him.

“Let me keep the picture and I’ll make it worth your while,” Cas bargains suggestively, running the hand not clutching his phone down Dean’s chest.

“Yeah, okay.” Dean’s not going to say no to that. “Where did you get that horrible sweater anyway?”

Cas smirks. “eBay.”

“Of course.” Dean’s eyes roll skyward.

They settle back down beside each other and Cas hides his phone under his pillow.

“I didn’t tell you last night but all the secret santa stuff you did was really awesome, Cas. You made my and Sam’s Christmas special this year. I haven’t had a good Christmas since Mom died.” Dean looks over to his bedside table where the picture of his four-year old self and his mother is now proudly framed.

Cas turns Dean’s head toward him with a hand on his cheek. “That’s all I wanted, Dean. I’m glad it worked.” They kiss again, sweetly. Dean runs a hand through Cas’s wild hair but pulls back before it gets too heated. He has one last question that needs answering.

“Do I get a present today?”

It is supposed to be the last day of the twelve days of Christmas. Cas doesn't answer but crawls to the end of the bed and leans down to unzip his overnight bag. When he wriggles back up to Dean, he only has a square of white paper in his hand.

It’s the same as the others but inside this one it reads:

 

_The 12 days of Christmas have come to a close_

_And I’ve enjoyed this year more than anyone knows_

_I saved the best for last, I hope you agree_

_Your very last gift for this season is me_

 

Dean looks down to see a smirking Cas.

“Best gift I ever got,” he admits, leaning down to capture Cas’s pink lips in another searing kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr at [ILoveLucey](http://ilovelucey.tumblr.com/).


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